Equinox
by HeartEyes4Mariska
Summary: A multi-chapter Rolivia fic that is a combination of elaborations on existing scenes/missing scenes and original scenes that span from Scorched Earth to Beast's Obsession. Expect a slow burn, and notes of Bensler/Cabenson/Benssidy, as it goes on. Please read and review! Please heed ratings and trigger warnings for each chapter.
1. I: Water So Deep

**A/N: A few of you have requested a multi-chapter fic from me for Rolivia, so I thought I'd maybe give it a shot. This is the first chapter, and so far my intention is to write a mixture of elaborations on existing scenes/missing scenes and original scenes that span from Scorched Earth to around Beast's Obsession. If you're reading this first chapter, keep in mind that it's not intended to flow as smoothly as my other works, as it jumps from episode to episode. Hopefully you still find it enjoyable, despite the change in the format. Expect a slow burn, and notes of Bensler, Cabenson, and Liv/Hayden as it goes on. Ultimately, however, Rolivia will be the prevailing ship. Please read and review!**

 **Rating Chapter One: T for language and mature themes.**

 **Disclaimer: These characters belong to Dick Wolf, not myself. Excerpts from existing episodes used without permission. No profit is being made.**

 **Spoilers: Scorched Earth, Double Strands, Educated Guess, Loss/Ghost, Theatre Tricks, Official Story**

 **Equinox**

 _I: Water So Deep_

Autumn had commenced in a downward spiral, and Olivia Benson's year at NYPD's Special Victims Unit was rapidly becoming unlucky number thirteen. Tucker and IAB were giving Elliot hell over the shooting of Jenna Fox, and Elliot was freezing Liv out in the middle of the chaos.

The squad room felt foreign without her long-time partner, as if Elliot's absence was a fog that hung over her desk, and his – still covered in his photos, and paperwork. She felt ambivalent, floating from place to place. Liv had been around through plenty of Elliot Stabler's darkest hours, his mandatory leaves. But this felt different, and she was unbalanced.

The next thing Olivia knew, a new detective showed up. Captain Cragen had mentioned in passing that he'd recruited someone out of the South, but so much had gone on, it seemed like the information had come and gone a year ago. Consequently, when the younger blonde finally approached her, Liv was deep in her own head.

The young, lean blonde was full to the brim with reasons for leaving Atlanta, Georgia behind. She would never say, but moving to the big city had made her nervous. When the nights drew out too long, just before the move, she had distracted herself by reading the detective profiles for the Manhattan SVU unit, on the online cop portal.

There, Rollins had seen a photo of the detective she had somewhat been idolizing for the past few years. Olivia Benson was a 13-year veteran of SVU, and an amazing detective. The profile photo was probably a few years old, but the woman's dark, guarded eyes and professional expression told Amanda a lot.

She hadn't hesitated to swoop into action on her first day, but as she had expected, breaking into a close-knit elite department wasn't going to be easy. Amanda was hip-deep into the day before she finally decided to muster her nerve to meet Benson in person.

Rollins wiped her clammy palms against her black dress pants and took a deep breath for the third time in less than as many minutes. She swallowed against the acrid taste of nerves at the back of her throat.

 _Goddamn coward_ , she chastised herself. _You're a fangirl-ing fool. Buck up, blondie_. She took a look at Olivia, crossing the precinct floor like she owned it, and it made her hesitate again.

 _You're a goddamn SVU detective, just like she is, Rollins!_ the voice in her head shouted. _Go!_ She went. "Detective Benson? Hi. Amanda Rollins." She stuck out her hand - stiff, like a girl scout. Immediately, she felt ridiculous.

Benson furrowed her brows, scrutinizing in an offhand manner. "Ah, transfer from Dallas, right?"

"Yeah – well, Atlanta," she corrected. She rushed ahead: "You like Distasio for this?" _There ya go_ , the voice said, _stay cool . . . talk about the case_.

Non-committal, Liv answered, "Uh . . . he was there."

"Well, I just – I-I just wanted to let you know I'm really happy to be here." _Oh Jesus Christ_ , she groaned. "I, um, I've studied a lot of your cases. I used some of the stuff you did on the Brown case – the, the infant homicide." Rollins could feel her ears burning. _Jesus_ , she thought, _what's wrong with you?_

"Yeah. Yeah, I haven't briefed the captain yet, so . . . "

"Sure." _Yeah, I would wanna escape, too._

"Thank you."

She watched Benson continue to Cragen's office, annoyed by the rush of her own pulse. The older woman was even more elegant and impressive than the photo on her detective profile page had conveyed, and Amanda bit her lip. _Way to go, hotshot_. It had been a long time since this particular brand of nervous energy had set up residence in the neglected corners of herself. Forcing herself to turn away from the doorway of Cragen's office, the blonde newbie let go a shaky breath and stuffed her hands into her pockets as the sounds of the bullpen came rushing back into awareness.

 _Watch yourself, 'Manda,_ the voice warned, _don't get any ideas_.

/ / /

Olivia let out a breath and resisted the urge to knock her beer bottle angrily to the floor. Just hearing El's voice on his voicemail was painful as hell. She finished leaving her pathetic message – not the first, or even the second – just as Fin got to the bar. "Hey, so - how'd the hand-off go?" she asked him.

"Some house arrest. This cat's got a screening room."

Olivia noticed Amanda Rollins' presence with the crew at the bar, and bristled. It was too soon - it felt like an intrusion. She eyed the trim younger woman, still curious at her over-eagerness and hero-worship from her earlier display. She looked young . . . athletic, Liv inventoried, her eyes taking a quick snap over the newbie's form. The blonde was unnervingly beautiful, but it was unclear if she knew it. "So what's her story? She must have some hooks to be transferred here from Atlanta."

"She's cool," Fin said, without following Liv's gaze.

"Talked to Elliot?" It felt and sounded akin to pleading, and Liv felt disgusted, but desperate.

"Nah."

Alex Cabot came breezing into the bar, comfortable wherever she went, as always. "Good news. The DNA came back. It's a match for Distasio and the victim."

Olivia smiled against her beer bottle before taking a swig. It was good to have Cabot back. In more ways than one. It took the edge off of Elliot's silence, made things seem a bit more like old times.

"Well, that puts him in the room," Munch chimed in. "What is he gonna do now, plead consent?"

"Oh, yeah, he will," Amanda said firmly. "In his world, sex is power. To him it was all just a dance. So whatever happened in that room, he doesn't see it as rape."

"Elliot's probably afraid to talk to you, Liv," Fin said carefully, interrupting her suspicious glare at Rollins. "Doesn't want you to try to talk him out of it."

Liv blinked. "Out of what? He's not gonna quit."

"He shot a teenage girl. He may not ever wanna put his gun on again."

Just hearing her fear actualized in Fin's easy, no-bullshit way made her stomach bottom out. It wasn't a thought that she'd allowed take up much space inside her head. El had been her partner for more than a decade. That, and . . . well, other things that Liv was still too scared to face. His not coming back was an outcome too anxiety-inducing and painful to bear. She hadn't talked about it – not really – with anyone. Liv blinked back tears, fighting to think what to say.

"You invite your boss for a drink?" Munch piped up, as Mike Cutter strode into the bar brandishing a copy of the Ledger at Alexandra.

"Hey, Mike, what's up?" Alex asked.

"Thought you vetted your witness." Disgusted, Cutter dropped the paper onto Liv's table. "She's in it for the money."

"Not a chance." Alex balked.

"That's the ledger. They'll print anything to sell papers," Fin said, with a glance at the headline.

"They got her on tape," Cutter divulged.

Liv sat up a little straighter, shocked. "What? Who?"

"Another maid at the hotel just sold Miriam out," he replied, his tone low and vexed.

The squad dispersed rather quickly after the blow, knowing that the next day would start early for all of them – which it did. Liv's rusty Italian was put to the test making multiple phone calls. It was three-coffees-o'clock when she found herself half-listening to Rollins speak to the captain. Olivia sat up and came alive, impressed by the newbie's diligent probing.

Liv picked up the phone to get in touch with Alex, to keep her in the loop. On the first ring, she noticed Amanda looking her way. "Good work, Rollins," she said – and surprisingly, meant it.

Across the desks, the blonde smiled and nodded. She took a deep breath that she hoped hid her ridiculous pleasure: the blush creeping up her face, and the excited tremble of her hands.

/ / /

 _Liv . . . I'm sorry._

Cragen's words reverberated inside her head as she closed the door to the interrogation room she'd ducked into. _I can't fucking breathe_ , she thought, _oh God_ –

 _I'm sorry_.

Olivia doubled over with the force of the pain in her chest and began to sob. Her stomach heaved, and she swallowed hard. _Get it together, Benson_ , she barked at herself, _you gotta work!_ But the tears burned hot trails down her face, as she shook with the shock, with betrayal. With heartbreak.

 _Jesus, Elliot,_ she thought. _Why?_ It was a convenient cover-up for the real question – _how could you leave me_ – that even her inner voice wouldn't cry out. She had told Fin they would roll in five minutes, so she dug down deep and expertly ignored her pain. Liv stood up, squaring her shoulders, and took a deep breath. With a last sniff, and a hand scrubbed across her face, she reached for the door handle.

 _Liv . . . I'm sorry._

She tried to imagine the words in El's voice, but couldn't. Olivia would have to be sorry another day.

/ / /

The nights were only barely beginning to get chilly when the Dani Hynes case started. Rollins had been paired with Benson to cover the scene and get the victim's statement. Compared to the South, Amanda thought New York was going to be downright chilly.

"My friends wanted me to stay for another drink . . . but I have a rehearsal in the morning. I should have just smiled when he asked," Dani whimpered.

"You did everything right. You survived," Liv soothed. "Danielle, have you ever seen this man before?"

"No. But he knew all about me."

A short distance away, Rollins spoke: "There are bike tracks. Get the cement."

"Wow, he really got you good, huh?" Liv commented, eyeing the young woman's facial abrasions with concern.

"He was wearing latex gloves."

"Did he have any distinguishing marks on him, a tattoo, anything like that?"

"I saw one on his neck," Danielle nodded, "a Tai Chi thing."

"A Tai Chi thing?" Rollins interrupted on her way by, "can you describe that?"

"Half black, half white, in a circle," the victim stammered.

"The Yin-Yang?" Amanda pushed.

"Yeah. Sorry."

"Did he say anything to you during the incident?" Amanda continued, her questions rapid-fire. She was unaware of Olivia, glaring with disapproval.

"He said, 'Tell me you love me, mommy.'"

Excited now, Rollins stepped even closer to the victim and Liv. "Those exact words? You're sure? Did you notice how he got away?"

"On a bike."

"Danielle, will you excuse us for one second, okay?" Liv cut in, "Detective, can I have a word with you?" She eyed Amanda with raw displeasure and pulled her aside. "Uh, I don't know how you do things down South, but here, in New York, we think it's best if one person does the intake as to not overwhelm the victim."

"Okay, look, I know this may sound crazy, but I think I know this guy. I recognize his M.O."

"Recognize him? From where? You just got here." There was no effort whatsoever to hide her rebuff. It had been a few weeks since the news about Elliot, and it was slowly draining Liv's ability to be pleasant. The newbie charm was wearing off, and Liv was making sure Rollins knew it.

"We were tracking a serial rapist in Georgia. It's the same signature, okay. Olivia, it's the same signature: the way he stalks, the tattoo – "

"Rollins, with all due respect, the city is filled with rapists with the same M.O."

"'Tell me you love me, mommy'? I mean, he said the exact same thing, our perp."

"I understand that. It's still a stretch."

Rollins' icy blues became defiant in the glare of ambulance lights, surprising the older woman for the first time. "Could be," she said, mustering all of her Southern manners. "Could be he's here."

The two women stared each other down momentarily, before Liv wordlessly went back to the victim alone.

/ / /

"You want me to talk, I will talk. To _her_. The blonde." Brian Smith was jumpy with energy, but still cocky, for the time being – thinking he could just talk his way out of the whole thing

"That's not gonna happen," Fin said flatly.

"Oh. Okay, then. Lawyer," Brian retorted.

"Well, he said the magic word," Fin said, rejoining the squad outside interrogation with Munch. "We got enough to get him without it?"

"The wire went in and out in the tunnel. Amaro may have used excessive force. Rollins ran out of his view . . . " Casey itemized.

"It was the only way to – " Amanda started.

"The defense will paint this as two new detectives trying to make a name for themselves. And there's still reasonable doubt on everything because of his twin," Casey argued.

"So, if he doesn't talk to the blonde, he walks?" Liv commented, confounded. "Captain, we need a statement."

Rollins was more than just surprised; Olivia had already argued once that Brian was her collar. Not just that – Amanda had been getting the impression that she would never be getting into the brunette's good graces. This support from left-field was putting Amanda on edge, suspicious that Liv might set her up to fail.

Novak let out a sigh and Cragen relented, giving Amanda a short nod. She paused, then pulled her hair up into a quick, messy ponytail and stepped to the interrogation room door. Her heart hammered wildly, comprised of confidence, adrenaline, and the need to impress.

Impress who? Olivia? The captain? The ADA? The blonde honestly didn't know as she stepped into the room. "Heard you wanted to see _me_." She eyed Brian Smith coquettishly.

"Oh, you look so much prettier when you smile," Brian grinned, smitten.

"So do you. You know, I've actually been, um, been wanting to talk to you for a long time."

"Oh, is that right?"

"I'm a Southern girl; I worked sex crimes in Atlanta. I'm actually the one that named you. I've been obsessed with you a little bit, to tell you the truth. I always thought I was your type."

"Mm-hmm. Down to a T," Brian leered.

Rollins turned to the two-way mirror, smiling triumphantly at those on the other side – mostly for Nick, the new-newbie who kept giving her grief. "A hell of a ride, Brian - you were the best. I'll give you that."

Slamming the table, he got to his feet. "I _am_ the best! You and me in the - in the park, that was another thing. You were . . oh, all cute and bouncy. You teased me," Brian scolded.

"Just like all the other girls."

"What other girls?" He paused, without intending to keep up the ruse of being quite that stupid – or assuming Rollins was. "Oh, that was my brother . . . yeah. It's the same DNA."

"So that was the plan all along. Just leave enough of your DNA so we can pin it on your brother. And you even made sure to get the tattoo just like him. It's... it's genius," Amanda praised.

" _You_ said that, not - not me!" he protested, looking past her, at the two-way as she had.

"Couple'a holes, though," Rollins went on.

Liv watched from outside the room as Amanda switched gears and found herself pleased. Absorbed in the performance, she couldn't take her eyes off of the drawling blonde. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to have another female detective in the unit, she considered. It would be the first time since, what – 2000? Unless anyone wanted to count Jo Marlow's short term assignment a couple of years ago.

 _Christ, what is it with me and blonde women?_ Olivia mused.

"Can you lift up your shirt?" Amanda asked Brian. Goosebumps broke out down Olivia's forearms at the phrase.

"What?"

"Lift up your shirt for me, baby. I wanna show you something," she insisted.

Liv caught her breath at Amanda's inflection, and her pulse quickened. She chided herself, blaming it on the strangeness of the case.

Brian chuckled, nervously. "Hey, it's your party."

"See, that's some scar. Your twin brother doesn't have that scar. Doesn't have a chipped tooth either. We have victims that saw both."

"Is that the best that you got? I mean, it was dark. Witnesses make mistakes all the time. You know that." His nerves were getting the best of him now, and they both knew it.

"What about that Halloween rape? 2003. Did your brother do that one?" She pressed him harder, her voice more accusing.

"I don't know. He – he could've."

"Did you know his wife had a miscarriage that weekend? Doctors and nurses all claim that he never left her side."

"There is _always_ a back door." His eyes gave away how rattled he really was, and Rollins had to tamp her excitement in response.

"He was 100 miles away, Brian." She eyed him, severe. "Sit down. 'Cause you, you made another mistake: you lost your screwdriver that night, in the dark."

Outside the mirror, Olivia nibbled at the inside of her cheek, still watching. She was undeniably turned on, now, and a bit pissed at herself for it.

" _You_ left a fingerprint. It's sloppy work, you know, for you. That one, it's gonna cost you big time. 'Cause twins have the same DNA, but different fingerprints. But you knew that. Right? That's why you started wearing the gloves."

Amanda closed the distance between them, leaning against the edge of the table. Outside, she couldn't know that Olivia's eyes raked over the shape of her back in her pale pink blouse, and her ass in her work pants. Softening her voice again, another gear shift: "Brian. I know. You had to teach yourself everything. Not your brother, not Gabriel. Gabriel got to go to _school_ , got to go to _college_. He's got a great life. I mean, you've seen his wife, his cute son. You followed him all these years, and you never . . . never said hello."

"You don't know anything about me," he scoffed.

"Yeah? We met your mother - your real mother - at the halfway house. And she told us that you came and found her. You know what she said? 'I gave him up once. You would think he'd take the hint the first time.' And that must have hurt."

"She's a drunk whore. Who cares?" he lied.

"You do. Especially since you know what good care she took of your twin. She took such good care of your brother. She told us that she made sure he found a good home. She made sure to send birthday cards . . . "

"Nah, I had good parents," Brian shrugged.

"Your mother killed your father in front of you, Brian. That's horrible. Nobody should have to go through that," she countered.

"Nah, it didn't break me."

"No? I disagree. Your own mother gave you up. Your second mother, she's a nightmare. Brian, it's okay. Anybody would be broken. No one's ever really listened to you, have they?" He refused to look at her. "I want to hear your whole story. Not just these . . . mistakes. Everything. I've got all night, and I'm not leavin' you. Look at me. Look at my face."

It took great effort, but the serial rapist finally managed to meet Rollins' gaze. In the hallway, Liv felt her centre grow noticeably wet, and didn't tear her gaze from Amanda until Cragen spoke, telling her and Amaro to release Gabriel from holding.

/ / /

The Gia Eskas case was a nightmare, not just literally, but bureaucratically as well. Rollins accompanied Liv when they returned to speak to Gia about Charles Lee's statement. She wasn't surprised when the reaction was complete denial.

"He's lying. It didn't happen. Nothing happened," Gia protested.

"We took his pants from his locker. They're running the DNA right now," Rollins told her, running out of patience for Gia's runaround.

"Gia, we know that you're angry and afraid, but a gun? That's not the answer," Liv advised.

"Says the woman who carries one on her hip," Gia scoffed.

"Yeah, and bad things have happened to me," Olivia confessed. "I've been stabbed. I've been assaulted. And my gun didn't save me."

Behind her, Amanda startled at the word _assaulted_. Her throat ran dry, and she glanced sidelong at the seasoned detective with shock and sadness. The world was both disappointing and predictable when a woman as strong and self-made as Olivia Benson had assault in common with a fresh-faced Southern hopeful.

Rollins waited in the corridor a bit later, while Olivia finished up. "This is going to be an uphill battle," was what the older woman sighed when she arrived.

"That's why we do it." Amanda felt shy and small leaning on the wall, like it was her first day on the job all over again. Not for the first – or last – time, her heart pounded as she spoke: "You told Gia that you were assaulted?" she said, then held her breath.

"Yeah." Liv didn't elaborate, and Amanda felt stupid for thinking the woman would. That woman was like a bank vault, and Amanda had no reason to believe she would ever solve the door's combination.

"Something happened to me on the job. It was part of the reason why I had to leave." She hoped it came out as casual as she wanted it to seem. It was the first time she had uttered the truth of it to anyone.

Liv tipped her head. "Somebody you worked with?"

Amanda shrugged. "Something not worth pursuing."

"That's how they win," Liv replied, causing a bolt of guilt to crackle over Rollins' nerves, feeling like she was a fraud in the wrong department. "We're not gonna let that happen to Gia."

/ / /

By the time the weather was growing colder, things had mellowed into a perfunctory routine. Rollins and Fin had partnered up, becoming very good together. Amanda was tickled by his sense of humor, and the fact that they were an unlikely mix of backgrounds. Liv, on the other hand, found working with Amaro somewhat of a rollercoaster. Like Elliot, Nick had a temper. But unlike Elliot, Nick's temper wasn't as predictable, or aimed at perps 90% of the time. His temper flitted and pitched, like birds on a wire, landing here on Rollins and there on Mike Cutter. Some days, Liv was grateful for that kind of male energy to work with again – other days, Elliot's absence still hurt like hell.

On those days, Alex Cabot's company had proven to be more important than ever. Not a soul, inside their lines of work or out, knew that the two women had been on-and-off lovers over the years. At the times Elliot had been unreachable emotionally, or when the loneliness was too much, they had come together almost curiously – mutually wondering if they could cover the other's wounds.

A serious relationship had only ever been a consideration once. Before the Zapata case, when they'd been years younger, and more innocent. But the split necessitated by Witness Protection had brought Alex her own, different loneliness, and she began a life that didn't include Liv. There was also the shadow of Elliot, hanging over every romantic move Olivia considered. She had mastered holding her lovers at arms length in order to leave room for what she felt for him.

This time, Elliot was gone. For good, she had to keep reminding herself. To Liv's surprise, Alex hadn't hesitated to be there for her, despite any past jealousies. She had held Liv through the worst of her heartbreak, and when the storm finally began to clear, they had fallen into their familiar, easy physical relationship.

It wasn't until the complications of the Jake Stanton case that Olivia realized something was different. Recently, she'd gone on a couple of dates, with men who turned out to be more than merely disappointing. Alex became tense and difficult to work with, which built until an eruption in the courthouse hallway as Cabot was boarding an elevator.

Olivia realized that this time, it had to be about more than just sex. It was time to be an adult again. Elliot had been known to joke that she was a serial first-dater. Did he know that she had spent 12 years alienating other men, just to settle for what little attention he gave her? She had let her partnership with Elliot – one that had really only ever been an emotional affair – dictate her adult relationships. Now she made the decision to go for something more serious, one more time.

She invited Alexandra to go skating in the city. They sat in a rink-side café and sipped gourmet hot chocolate. The evening was chilly but beautiful, with twinkling city lights and the shouts of children showing off on the ice. Liv didn't bother to hide her gazing at Alex, and the small smirks of pleasure that followed.

They made their apologies over the Stanton case, and then left shop talk behind. When they were full to the brim with hot chocolate, they laced up their rented skates and toddled out onto the ice. Cabot hardly made it ten feet before her skates went out from under her, landing her on her ass.

"Oh!" Liv chuckled, offering a hand to the embarrassed blonde. "Should I kiss it better?"

Alex narrowed her eyes, allowing the brunette to help her up. "Not _here_ ," she answered.

Liv giggled. "Later, then." She kissed Alex as preview, warming them both, eager to show her that her intentions were changing.

Liv had often wondered if her years at SVU had robbed her of her ability to have fun, but their night put the question to rest. They were cold and breathless when they finally skated to the rink's exit. Giggling, they helped each other off with their skates.

"I can't remember the last time I was on skates," Liv smiled when they were back in their shoes.

"Can't remember the last time I did anything other than prep witnesses or write a pre-trial motion," Alexandra griped.

"Well, this was a start. Do it again?"

They were smiling at each other. Liv was very pleased with herself.

"Yeah."

Her cell rang, and it was Cragen, calling her away to a crime scene at a nearby theatre.

"Work?" Cabot asked.

Liv sighed. "Yeah. It's close by – why don't you join me?"

/ / /

"Jeez, the director, the I. T. guy, the judge . . . just pick your pervert," Rollins frowned.

"Well, a pretty girl, new to New York City - every guy she met saw her as easy prey," Olivia explained, her years in the city highlighting her ingrained bias.

"Can I ask you something?" the younger detective said. "How long have you worked SVU?"

Liv sniffed over a laugh, thinking the attractive blonde was sizing up either her age, or her weariness. "Don't ask."

"No, it's just . . . how do you trust any man, _ever_ , after working this job day in, day out?"

Olivia took in Amanda's serious, young eyes, and the difference in years between them felt huge, palpable. She took a deep breath, not wanting to dash the young woman's hopes or expectations. "I trusted my partner."

Amanda grimaced, unimpressed. "Yeah, okay."

"I haven't given up hope. There are good guys still out there," Liv encouraged, assuming that _Not all men are rapists_ was all the Georgia Peach wanted to hear.

But Rollins didn't seem convinced, or even pacified by the answer. It made Liv more and more curious as she watched her colleague slowly return to her desk.

/ / /

Against her better judgement, Olivia agreed to join David Hayden for a drink. The restaurant he had chosen was crowded that night, which was somehow comforting for Liv.

"I have to admit, we were not sure about you at first," she smiled.

"You can trust me. I'm an attorney," he teased.

His smile was magnetic. Liv couldn't remember the last time she had been drawn to a man in so many different ways. David was not at all how Olivia had thought of Elliot; the dissimilarities helped her feel healthier, like the attraction wasn't simply about replacing El. Elliot had been steel, safety, and guarded emotion where David was boyish, easygoing. David seemed all soft sweaters, college polo matches, and had none of the bitterness that came with working sex crimes for over a decade.

"A little secret: I can be a little testy when I work with new people," she confessed.

"I can be somewhat testy around my kids."

"You have kids?" Liv felt her belly warm pleasantly.

He nodded. "Boy and a girl. They live with my ex-wife in Cobble Hill. You?"

"Me. Uh . . ." she took a breath, hesitating, not trusting herself yet. "I'm just getting over something," she answered.

Was 'something' Elliot, she wondered, or her recent failure to launch with Alex? The two women had tried, but the volatile nature of Alex's job had ultimately done what it always did. Alex dropped the news that her intention wasn't to stay on in Manhattan, and that another transfer was around the corner. Olivia, who sought consistency in her personal life to offset her chaotic day job, had let things cool until Alex finally called it quits.

But Olivia would also be lying if she said that her feelings for Elliot were gone.

"Isn't everyone," David mused, seeming only a little disappointed. "Can you stay for another round?"

She couldn't trust her judgement around him after a few more drinks, she decided. "You know, um . . . why don't we call it a night? You need a clear head in front of that Grand Jury tomorrow."

"Rain check?"

"I'd like that," Liv smiled. It was a new year after all, she supposed, and high time to try healing old wounds, breaking old patterns. She was used to running from anything that felt healthy or took her outside of the job. Olivia had made a secondary career out of denying herself a personal life.

As she and David left the restaurant and each hailed a cab on the frosty sidewalk, Liv took another lingering look at his smile and wondered where something healthy might possibly take her.


	2. II: Fractured Heart, Wounded Beat

**A/N: Hello, friends. Chapter Two has arrived! I enjoyed writing this one more so than the first; I found getting through the beginning parts a bit harder to fit together. I have to come right out and say it - I was kind of disappointed in the S20 premiere. Liv used to be such a great, brave role model for being a Pro-Choice Feminist, but in Man Up/Man Down I found that scene written kind of chastizingly, without the clarification that grief over an abortion and regretting an abortion made for the wrong reasons are not the same thing. Anyway, please read and review! Then try to be patient for Chapter Three. Lol Cheers!**

 **Spoilers: Doubt, Fault, Burned, Justice Denied, Street Justice, Father Dearest, Learning Curve, Lost Reputation/Above Suspicion, Friending Emily, Presumed Guilty, Secrets Exhumed, Deadly Ambition**

 **Rating for Part 2: T for language and mature themes**

 **Disclaimer: Listen, Mr. Wolf – if I had even *one* of your paychecks, I wouldn't have the time to borrow your characters and play with them, bc I would be busy living a fuller life. Until then, forgive me, and say hey to Mariska for me.**

 **Equinox**

 _II: Fractured Heart, Wounded Beat_

Twelve weeks. That's how long it had taken for Olivia's flirt with domestic bliss to blow up in her face.

Maybe even less.

 _You know, that . . . that means we –_

 _I know. Us – this - never happened._

They had finished their respective drinks, and had gone back to Liv's apartment. In the quiet dark they had touched each other, slowly, their coming together meant as apology. Afterward, she had helped David gather the few things of his that had migrated into her space, and walked him somberly to the door.

 _I'm the longest relationship you've ever had with a man,_ Elliot had told her once. Looking around her empty apartment that night after David was gone, she hated that Elliot had been, and still was, right. Being with David had been easy, and healthy, and comfortable. She had felt young, alive . . . normal. Whatever that meant.

Cool, messy Spring had arrived in New York, finding Liv alone again. At forty-four, it may no longer have been what she wanted to be, but it sure as hell was what she'd always been used to.

April was a long, strange month at SVU; back-to-back strange and frustrating cases collided with Nick's temper tantrums dragged in from his home life. Losing the Hartwell case had left the whole squad with a sour taste in their mouths, but before they could rinse and spit, they'd had to deal with 'Justice League New York,' wreaking havoc in the middle of chaos.

It wasn't until the avengers had been settled, behind bars or elsewhere, that Liv got a chance to tell Nick to take a few days off to cool down while the rest of the squad went out to blow off steam. They went to their usual place, ordering a pitcher of beer and crowding around a couple of tables.

"Fantastica – " Rollins chuckled.

" – and 12:19, let's not forget!" Liv interjected.

"Fuuuck me," the blonde giggled, covering her face with her hands.

 _"¡Qué mierda,_ " Rafael Barba snorted, shaking his head.

They relaxed slowly, swapping stories and leaning sleepily in the bar's stiff chairs. After a while, Fin invited Amanda to play a game of pool at the table in the back, leaving Munch, Barba and Liv to their muted chatter.

It was Munch who eventually bowed out first, making a sardonic comment about being the oldest. Fin followed after, blaming Rollins for having kicked his ass at the pool table, exhausting him. Liv and Amanda were left by themselves around midnight, when Barba begged off because of court in the morning. The two women were tipsy, having enjoyed the evening, as well as their fair share of the beer pitchers.

Amanda had never seen Liv so relaxed, so different. All her edges seemed softened as compared to her working persona, and Amanda kept getting distracted by the brunette's mischievous smile.

"I like your tattoo," Liv confided, leaning over as she spoke, to look more closely at Rollins' forearm.

Amanda's eyes widened as Liv closed the distance between them, her nostrils flaring involuntarily at the scent of shampoo and perfume that came along with the movement. She held her arm still so Liv could see the white scrawl of name – _Amanda_ – up close.

"Thanks," she finally said quietly.

"Is there a story behind it?"

Olivia wasn't aware of Amanda's gambling addiction, and Amanda liked it that way. She couldn't tell Liv all that she had confided in Fin, not yet. There was too much that she still needed to prove, without giving the seasoned detective reason to be disappointed by her. "It's just . . . " Rollins shrugged, "to remind me who I am. When I forget."

Liv accepted the response, and took another swig of her beer.

"What about you? Do you have any tattoos?"

"Me?" Olivia grinned. "No." She shook her head. "I acted out in . . . other ways."

Amanda chuckled, as a ripple of desire ran through her, her mind throwing out wild thoughts that would never be birthed into spoken questions. "You should try it," she said instead. "It can be really therapeutic."

Liv flashed Rollins a look that affected her in dangerous ways. She smirked, lopsidedly. "I think I'll stick to wine, thanks."

"Speakin'a drinks," Amanda said, "should we get another pitcher?" She tipped her head in the direction of the mostly empty one on the table.

"God, no," Liv laughed. "How about a glass of wine, or a cocktail?"

Rollins glanced quickly around the bar, then leaned in toward Olivia. "You know this is a sports bar, right?" she teased. "A'ight, I'll see what I can do," she said after a pause, and went across the crowded floor toward the bar.

"Hello, blondie," a tall man spoke loudly, grinning at Amanda as he interrupted her trip to the bar.

"Hi," she replied politely, not meeting his gaze. She tried to take another step, turning sideways to angle through the crowd, but the man placed a hand on her forearm, holding her in place. Looking up at him, her smile disappeared. "Listen, I – "

"Heyy, you're cute; I just wanna talk!" he protested.

"That's nice, but I'm here with some – "

"With me," Liv's voice came firmly, suddenly, from next to Amanda's shoulder.

Amanda was so surprised, she couldn't even bring herself to turn her head. Her stomach did a barrel-roll as she felt Liv's fingers slide into the palm of her hand at her side. She curled her fingers around Liv's.

"C'mon, Babe," Liv said, not taking her eyes from the man, "let's get the drinks."

Holding hands, they made it to the bar and ordered. Amanda was blushing furiously, prepared to blame it on the crowd of bodies if Olivia noticed. "Thanks," she said as they sipped their respective orders, leaning on the bar.

"He's still staring," was what Liv replied, glancing behind them.

"Fuck 'em," Rollins laughed.

"Again, no thanks," the older woman deadpanned. "Here, let's get rid of him," she continued.

"Hmm?" Amanda hummed as she took a drink, turning her head to look at Liv. They were face to face upon the turn, and before her brain could register what was happening, Liv pressed her lips to Amanda's.

Their lips were cool from sipping their drinks. Rollins could smell Liv's perfume, and beneath that, the scent of Olivia's own skin. She thought if spontaneous human combustion was real, that she was about to be the next victim.

Then it was over, and Liv was looking over her shoulder again. "That worked," she said simply.

 _Did it ever!_ Rollins thought. "Great," she squeaked.

When their drinks were gone, the night out was over. Liv insisted on sharing a cab, and had Amanda dropped off first. Tipsy and tired, Amanda shuffled to her bedroom, stripped to her undies and crawled into bed. Her eyes had barely closed before her mind assaulted her with thoughts of the kiss.

Groaning aloud from under the covers, she thought of her dark-skinned and undeniably sexy co-worker, of the taste of liquor on her lips, and the feel of kissing her. Her hips rolled instinctually, and Amanda knew without checking that she was wet. Turning over, she spooned into the body pillow that shared her bed, pulling it between her thighs. Rocking, she pushed against the fullness in just the right way.

After a few minutes she began to moan, deep in her throat. Amanda pushed a hand into her panties, pressing a finger to her clenching clit, rubbing roughly. Her orgasm was fast, but hard enough to leave her trembling.

/ / /

About a week later, the squad was focused on the Cate Avery case, and not much else. Spring was getting ready to turn over into Summer, but their streak of strange, disturbing cases still refused to relent.

"Liv, Rollins, go to New York Cryogenics," Munch told the girls.

"Ah, I already spoke to them, and they're not gonna compromise donor confidentiality," Liv told him.

"Yeah, and we don't have enough for a warrant," Amanda added.

"I'm sure you two could think of something," Munch intoned, leaning closer, then he got up from where they had all been eating lunch, and returned to his desk.

The two women looked at each across their Chinese food. Rollins took a deep breath. "Does he mean what I think he means?"

"Oh, yeah," Liv nodded, eating another bite of her fried rice. "He does."

"Okay . . . " Amanda said slowly. "It could work. How do you wanna play it?"

Liv raised an eyebrow.

"I mean, what's our story," she tried again, "in case they ask us a lotta questions."

They talked out a scenario over the rest of their lunch, then went together to NY Cryogenics. Rollins hesitated before getting out of the car in front of the building. She frowned and smoothed down her blouse. "I still don't know why you got me to change," she complained.

"Just c'mon, Amanda," Liv called.

"How can I help you?" the receptionist asked them brightly.

"We think it's time to take the next step and," Liv placed her hand over Amanda's on the desk and squeezed, "build a family."

"Well, good for you. So do you have any ideas about what you're looking for in a donor?"

"Well, don't you have a book that we can go through?" Rollins followed scenario, her lips numb as the sensation of Liv's hand caused her heart to race.

"Yes, of course."

"Well, actually, we do have one idea," Liv admitted. "Um, my cousin used sperm from this bank, and her daughter Brooke is just so lovely and smart, and we were thinking it might be nice – "

"If they could share the same genes? I get it. It happens a lot, actually. So how old is Brooke?"

"She's gotta be, what? 17?"

"18."

"No, she's almost 17 now."

"Oh, I see. Well, it's not likely that we still have that donor in our bank," the receptionist advised.

"That's what I tried to tell her," Amanda replied apologetically.

"Well, she said that it was donor – " Liv fished for a piece of paper in her pocket.

Amanda leaned over the counter. "It's Donor 141. So could you just check?"

"Yes, of course."

"There's no harm in checking," Liv smiled.

"That's right. Okay," Rollins agreed.

"Yeah. I'm sorry. We actually ran out of Donor 141 about five years ago. He was very popular."

"You know what? Could you just show us his profile? And then maybe we can find someone whose profile is close to his," Amanda suggested.

The receptionist never stood a chance at refusing the captivating blonde. "All right, why not? Just give me a second."

"Good," Liv smiled.

"Yes."

Short moments later, they were getting back in the car, with 141's details in hand. "That was good work, detective," Liv smiled as she slid into the driver's seat.

Amanda skimmed the donor profile again, trying to make connections to the case. She looked up as they pulled into traffic, glancing at the older brunette. "You ever think about it? Havin' kids?" she asked.

Olivia's eyes narrowed, instinctively guarded when it came to personal questions. Clearing her throat, she answered, "Yeah, I have. More than I guessed I ever would, actually."

Rollins gazed out her window, considering. "I dunno. I kinda thought for a long time I would, but . . . my family is, uh – " she hesitated, " _unique_."

"Aren't they all," Liv chuckled. They fell quiet for a beat, then Liv said softly, "But I understand where you're comin' from. There are some things that no one wants to pass on."

/ / /

Olivia knocked and let herself into Alex's office. Alex looked up from a desk full of paperwork and brightened when she saw a tray with two iced coffees in it. She accepted the cup that Liv proffered.

"How is Joanne holding up?" Alex asked, watching Liv drop onto the office settee.

"She's . . . " Liv shrugged. "Concerned about being outed. Or, I guess 'misunderstood,' is a better word, with how old-fashioned she is."

"Mmm," Alex acknowledged. "Thanks for the coffee."

"You're welcome."

The two women had managed to stay friendly, despite their failed attempt at more than just sex. Olivia expected that they always would be close, in one way or another.

"I can't imagine," Alex said, coming around the desk, startling Benson from a reverie.

"What's that?"

"Living her Virginia Woolf, 'passionate friends' lifestyle this day and age," Cabot smiled, joining Liv on the couch.

Liv grinned. "You don't think our friendship is passionate?"

"It has its moments. How have you been, Olivia?"

They hadn't seen each other since the New Year, before David. Liv took a long drink of iced coffee and looked at the carpet. "I've been worse," she hedged. "But it's been a long, strange Spring for sure. How is your reassignment looking?" She looked back up at Alex.

"It's looking better," Alex said lightly. "It'll probably be relatively soon."

The dejected look that Liv managed to keep from her face traveled to her eyes, giving her away. Alex smiled, apologetically.

"I hope it works out for you," Liv said, despite her disappointment.

Cabot touched Liv's arm gently. "What's really bothering you?" she asked.

After a long, pregnant pause, Liv whispered: "It's nothing. I . . . had to end something. Something that was . . . good for me." She sighed.

"I'm sorry," the blonde whispered back.

Olivia got to her feet, standing in front of her friend . . . lover. Alex looked up from her seated position, just as Liv raised a hand, caressing the line of Alexandra's jaw. "Please?" Liv asked. She wasn't begging; it was simple politeness – she was asking for comfort, not commitment.

Alex took a deep breath, letting it slowly, not taking her eyes from Olivia's face. Finishing her coffee with a long drink, she placed the empty cup on a side table. "Get the door," she said finally. She watched, as Liv shrugged off her jacket on her way to lock up the office.

/ / /

Olivia was pacing a tight line in front of Cassidy's hospital room, wishing for her strange Spring back. So far, the Summer was shaping up to try and land all of SVU in the psych ward – or, equally as good, Rikers. Donald Cragen was not just her captain of 14 years, he was the only father that she had ever known. There wasn't a chance in hell that she would let anyone, least of all two warring, high-priced pimps, pull the one-six out from under the Captain.

Cabot was gone, her transfer having come through at the end of the Spring as she had expected. It was an absence that was more and more tangible as the season went on. Liv was proud and relieved to see the squad coming together to bury the shit that Delia and Ganzel kept throwing at them. But still, it would have been nice if there was some physical comfort to be found among the chaos.

Now, here was Cassidy, shot and laying in a hospital bed. Liv had been stunned to see him again, after nearly 13 years having gone by since they worked together . . . or slept together. Liv had been very young, and enamoured with Elliot more than she could admit.

 _God, what a bitch I was about it_ , Liv thought, taking a pause in her pacing. _"That was just a job, it wasn't personal,"_ Brian had said of questioning her investigative stance. _You know what? Neither was last night_ , she'd told him.

She shook her head at herself, then turned and finally pushed open the hospital room door. She smiled as Brian turned his head on the pillow to see his visitor.

"Hey, Liv."

"Hi, Brian. How're you feeling?"

"Older than I used to be," he chuckled, watching her approach the bed.

"Nobody is letting up on this case," she told him. "We're piecing somethin' together, and we think we got something. I need you to tell me if you recognize this person." She handed him the photo in her hand.

"Ted Koundak, that schmuck," Cassidy said immediately. "He used to hang around a little bit, you know. He had a thing for Spanish girls. Are you gonna tell me that he paid that chick to put two bullets in me?"

"Ganzel called in a favor."

"Ganzel?" Brian echoed, incredulous.

"Yeah."

"But Ganzel paid for these flowers. He paid for this room . . . "

"Cassidy – " Liv jumped in, lifting his arm so she could sit on the edge of his bed.

"Ow. Ow . . . "

"Ganzel made you. You okay?"

"Yeah, but I mean, can you blame the guy? I mean, really. Those bugs. Stupid bugs," Brian griped.

"You should've told Foster."

"No way. She would've just pulled me in. And then what? I go back to investigating dry cleaner break-ins? I'm like you, Liv," he paused, groaning in discomfort. "This job is the only thing I got."

Olivia gazed at his face, her look sad but concerned. "I'm not who I used to be," she told him softly.

"Sure you are."

He still smelled as good as she remembered, and he had aged in all the right ways. Brian's familiarity was comforting – a breath of ease from her early years that made her feel less untethered. "No. I'm not," she insisted, and quickly kissed him to make her point.

"That was nice," Cassidy chuckled.

"Something about a man in a hospital bed," Liv teased.

"Okay, Florence Nightingale," he conceded, his eyes twinkling.

Olivia kissed him again, feeling something inside her flutter loose – something she had worried had been wing-clipped so long ago.

/ / /

 _"All that time together. The two of us. It was like we were married."_

 _" . . . But you weren't."_

Lieutenant Eames' words were bouncing around inside Liv's tired mind when she got home. She let herself into her apartment, dropping her keys to the counter with a clatter. The apartment was dim, and quiet. Liv and Cassidy had mutually decided to take things slow, making sure the focus wasn't solely on sex. She would be alone tonight, having opted to go for a nightcap with Eames.

Once her shoes had been discarded, Olivia padded down the hall, taking out her earrings as she went. In the bathroom, she started a hot bath running.

Elliot had been married. Not to her – but any cop, regardless of unit, could speak about how long-time partnerships became second marriages. For some cops, the emotional closeness of those partnerships overshadowed the fact that they weren't physical. It was usually the Trial by Fire for marriages in police work.

It certainly had been for Elliot's marriage, Liv conceded as she lowered herself into the scalding bath. Not those first few years, when his kids had still mostly been young. – but after that, the speedbumps had just kept on coming. He shut down at home, desperately wanting to keep the ugliness he battled every day out of the house. But all Kathy saw was that El could talk to Olivia, but not to her.

Then, in 2004, they had split up. Liv felt her world turn on its ear; she found herself caught between consoling El and wanting to tell him how she had felt. She had waited patiently for six years, and was rewarded accordingly, she had thought. But nothing happened – not then, anyway.

Not until Gitano. The serial pedophile had gone on a rampage in the spring of 2006, absconding with two kids and pushing the entire squad to their limits. In the end, Liv and Elliot had nearly lost each other. While they had never been strangers to jeopardy in their partnership, this time when they chose each other over a victim, they had been forced out in the open in the process.

For two people so guarded, so used to the intimate space their partnership functioned in, the exposure was too much. They found themselves running, twice, over the next half a year. Of all the outcomes Liv had weighed over the years, both of them turning out cowards had never been considered. It was the longest they had been apart in seven years, and when Liv got back, it took them a couple of months to get back on track.

Liv drew her long legs from the bath, wrapping herself in a large, comfortable towel. She continued on into her bedroom, still thinking of that cold, wet winter.

They had caught a case – an awful, volatile case that spun both of them upside down.: Valerie Sennet accused her ex-husband of rape, then recanted. An Order of Protection was granted, but Miles Sennet still succeeded in setting Valerie on fire and killing her, despite El's opinion that Valerie was the conniving one. Somehow, in the end, it turned out they had both been right. At the conclusion of the Sennet case, Elliot had signed and delivered the divorce papers that had been sitting in his desk for months.

And suddenly, things had been different.

 _"You hungry?"_

 _"I could go for a bite. Who's buying?"_

 _"Well, you are going through a divorce and you do have four children so I guess you are."_

 _"That's what I thought."_

Liv threw on a tank top and a pair of boyshort underwear, then crawled into the cool sheets of her bed. Her _lonely_ bed.

They had gone out for breakfast that morning; just a simple, greasy spoon breakfast at a diner close to El's apartment. For the first time in what felt like years, they had laughed and talked like the friends they were. The sun had come up, warming them with wide, pleasant shafts of late winter light, and Elliot had ordered Liv a fresh tea for the walk back to his place.

 _"Come up and see my new man cave,"_ he'd grinned when they reached the steps.

So she followed him up to the spartan one-bedroom that was still haphazard with boxes. _"Going for the minimalist look, Stabler?"_ she had ribbed.

It wasn't his house, but Olivia had loved it. It was masculine, and all Elliot: everything there was him, smelled like him, belonged go him. When he did finally reach for her, she was exhausted – had been up nearly 40 hours. But it had been 8 years in the making, and Liv refused to make any mistakes.

Laying in her bed, six years later, Liv wondered what this trip down memory lane was really about. The sex between her and Cassidy was just as hot as it had originally been, and it was a solid match between them. The one-year anniversary of Elliot's silence had just gone by, and she caught herself more and more often drifting off in memories. Healing wasn't linear, yet she had never been good at being kind to herself when it came to her own wounds.

Seven years, she had been in love with Elliot. Liv had never been a part of something that explosive, not even when she had been the adventurous teenager of an alcoholic mother. Six years later, she could still feel, taste, remember every detail of that first time. Later, there would be more times, but that morning in his messy, mostly-bare apartment would always be the moment she came back to.

 _I love you, Liv._

They had made love, off and on for the next four and a half years: After Eli was born. After her breakup with Kurt Moss. After Dale Stuckey had gone off the deep end . . . both before and after Elliot had moved back in with Kathy. Their unspoken rule was that they never discussed the morality of it; it was something they did to stay sane. He had stayed in his lukewarm marriage, Liv rarely dated anyone for long, and for nearly five years they had made it work.

Liv's cell dinged as Cassidy texted her goodnight, asking how the drink with Eames had gone.

 **Good** , she texted back. **We have a lot in common**.

/ / /

"Hold up," Liv called as she hustled toward the closing elevator, "Thanks." She allowed herself a stealthy head-to-toe look of Amanda, then let out an end-of-day sigh.

"You got plans for tonight?" Rollins asked.

"Oh, no, I'm . . . wiped. You?"

"Quiet night at home with my sister. We haven't really had the chance to catch up, so . . . "

"Yeah, I know. There's a lot going on with her. That can't be easy for you," Liv said, treading carefully.

"She likes to stir things up. Keeps her calm." The elevator dinged at Liv's floor. "I can handle it, you know."

"Still . . . " she reached out a hand and grabbed Amanda's arm in a locker-room gesture of support, "take care of yourself."

Amanda stared after Liv, walking away in her fucking leather jacket that made her look like Chrissie Hynde. The dark hair pulled back. Her smoky eye makeup. God she looked good tonight. She thought of the kiss from the bar, thought about how their friendship had been slowly changing over the month that they'd been assigned to work together. She stepped out into the cool Fall air and began humming _Brass in Pocket_ as she started her way home.

It was quiet outside her door, which was a relief, as she unlocked it. Partway into the kitchen, she stopped dead. "Jeff? Get off of her," she demanded.

"Oh, Amanda. Don't you ever think'a knockin'?" As always, to Kim, life was standing still at the point she turned seventeen.

"You – here," she began throwing his clothes into his lap, "you're leaving. Now."

"Whoa! Honey . . . chill. Your sister _invited_ me," he smirked.

"Yeah, he said he was sorry; he's gonna take me to Cancun," Kim said calmly, as if that was the universally accepted apology for abusing someone.

"That's right, I'm gonna take care of my girl. Who else can she count on, if not Jeff?"

He smiled as Kim cuddled into him, and Amanda felt her stomach tighten. "You can count on me to shoot your ass if you're not out of my apartment in 30 seconds," she bit out, yanking her gun from its holster.

"Amanda!" Kim whined, "What the hell?"

"Whoa, whoa!" Jeff protested, shooting to his feet.

"All right, I – I missed him. And - and you're never around, and I was lonely."

"Well, that's better than bein' beaten bloody, isn't it?" Amanda snarked, turning back to Jeff. "13, 12, 11 . . . "

"Now I know where crazy comes from," he shot out.

"You ain't seen crazy," she snarled, "seven, six . . . show up again, no warning!" she shouted at the slamming door.

"What the hell did you do that for?!" Kim yelled, before Amanda even had a chance to let out the breath she'd been holding. "All right? I didn't ask for your help. I can take care of myself!"

"You're welcome," Amanda sighed to the room after Kim disappeared into the bedroom. _What the fuck have I got myself into?_ she wondered. She was so, so tired of playing mother and body guard to her sister, yet she still kept choosing to, every damn time.

 _You're supposed to be smarter than this,_ she reminded herself. Fleetingly, she considered calling Liv, or Fin, then dismissed the idea. They would only argue that Amanda do the logical thing, like convince Kim to get an Order of Protection against Jeff – and the logical thing never went far with Kim. Instead, she changed into some workout gear from the bathroom hamper that passed the Sniff Test, and hit the street running.

When she woke up the next morning, the door to the bedroom was open. She rolled off the couch and stumbled to the doorway, but Kim wasn't inside. "Kim?" she called, leaning back to see into the kitchen. But Kim was gone, along with what little she'd brought with her – and the rest of her savings from the freezer.

Hurricane Kim never had come with a weather warning.

/ / /

"You want to go where?" Liv asked.

"Cancun!" Brian was beaming.

"For Christmas."

"Yeah. Why not?"

"I . . . It's _Christmas_ , Bri – you know, family, friends, big window displays and tree lightings. Don't you like Christmas?"

It was mid-November, and Brian had just floated his Christmas in Cancun idea over dinner at what was becoming their usual place. Liv doubted it was receiving the reception he had imagined.

"Sure I like it," he shrugged. "You know what else I like? The beach. Hot temperatures, a nice beer, and you in a bikini. What's wrong with that?"

Olivia twisted the napkin in her lap, not wanting to continue to shoot him down. She considered her next words, stalling with a drink of her wine.

"Nothing's wrong with it," she sighed, "it's just so _different_."

"That's why I think we should go, Liv," he countered. "We've been together now almost six months . . . I just wanna switch gears. I want to take you somewhere nice, start makin' some memories, you know?"

Of course she had relented.

But now it was Christmas Eve, and somehow she heard herself arguing with Amaro over making her flight at all: "Yeah, I'm not going anywhere until we get a warrant for Menendez from Judge Harrison."

"Liv, go. I've got this," Nick protested.

"I can't."

"Hey - you put off your vacation til there are no bad guys left . . . " he said pointedly, crossing to her desk.

She wanted to believe that her stubbornness was about her rigid need to follow her cases through to every bitter end, but she was forced to consider that maybe it was more than that. "Look, I know, I know, but – "

"All right, you know what?" Nick interrupted, frustrated, "This is my Christmas gift." He yanked her purse from the drawer of her desk, tossed her keys at her.

"Really?"

"Yeah, really. Come on," he motioned, holding open her jacket.

"I want jewelry next year," she teased, making him chuckle.

"Look, I have my phone with me. I'm not turning it off. If you need anything- - "

"Liv. Enjoy."

She was touched. "Merry Christmas, Nick."

He laughed again. "You too, Liv."

He reminded her so much of Elliot in that moment. Her own, private last- minute miracle.

/ / /

Olivia wished that Nick had been wrong. She wished that she was anywhere but where she was: in the overly warm interrogation room, smelling the sweat of fear coming off of Dana, and seeing her anguished tears.

"I'm sorry. Olivia, I'm sorry," Dana said hoarsely.

"I know."

The Door opened, the light outlining Cragen's form as he stepped into the doorway. "Dana Lewis, you are under arrest for the murder of Kira Stanger," he announced.

"Okay. I understand. It's time. 25 years. Okay. I understand," Dana nodded, sniffing through her stuffy nose, defeated.

Amaro led Dana out of sight, leaving Liv staring off into space, bewildered.

"You should comer to my office; I gotta figure out the paperwork on this," the captain told her.

"Yeah. Uh, Cap'n . . . I need a minute. If that's alright."

He nodded, leaving her alone in the room. Liv got up almost immediately, heading out the hallway and to the stairs that led to the roof.

And the roof was where Rollins found her, an unknown amount of time later.

"Liv? You alright? Cragen is lookin' for you," she called, approaching Liv carefully.

"I'm fine," she blurted, out of habit.

Amanda took a deep breath, crossed her arms. "How long did you know Agent Lewis?"

"Eight years – although, I guess I can't say now that I really knew her." Liv turned to Rollins. "She saved my old partner's life – twice."

Amanda looked out at the night as Olivia had been doing, over the roof's edge. "You couldn't have known, Liv. I know that this must be hard, and strange."

Below them, night on the street was a river of tiny bodies moving, and traffic flowing in both directions.

"I was mostly just thinking . . . how some people can be these bundles of tantrums inside, and we don't know it until the right catalyst comes along. Do we ever get to know people for who they really are?"

Amanda took a big breath of clean, wintry air, then tentatively touched the brunette's shoulder. "C'mon. Let's go and put an end to this mess."

/ / /

 _"I hear what you all are saying about triggers, 'cause my sister pushes all of my buttons. She doesn't worry about anything. So I worry about everything."_

Her own words were running through her head when Amanda got home from work the following day.

"Quiet!"

"Jeff, come on, stop!"

She heard muffled shouts through the door. Pulling her gun, she called, "Kim?"

"Get out of here! Get off me! Jeff, you're hurting me!" Kimberly cried.

Amanda heard her sister groan as she came rushing into the living room. "Get off of her!" she shouted.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Jeff yelled back, releasing the fist that had just been poised above Kim, holding his hands up.

"I told him he couldn't be here, Amanda!"

"She called me, okay?" He contradicted. "Tell her, Kim!"

"No, I didn't!"

"Get your hands up!" Amanda shouted as he moved again. He reached over his head, to the floor beside the coffee table.

A flash of metal.

"He's got a gun!" Kim screamed.

Amanda fired without hesitating, vaguely aware of her sister still screaming.

Then, Jeff was quiet, and his blood was running down Kim's face, and Amanda was trembling.


	3. III: Going South

**A/N: Greetings, readers. Here is your long-awaited part three! I'd say be patient for part four, but . . . lol I know what it's like, waiting for updates, so I'll just say thanks for the support. I'll try to have the next chapter up as soon as I can. Please review! I live for your wonderful comments!**

 **Possible Triggers: There are descriptions of some Lewis scenes that include physical violence. Please avoid if this an issue for you. 3**

 **Rating for Part III: T for language and mature themes.**

 **Spoilers: Deadly Ambition, Undercover Blue, Poisoned Motive, Her Negotiation, Surrender Benson**

 **Disclaimer: Definitely not mine. I'm for sure too broke for that to be the case.**

 **Equinox**

 _Part III: Going South_

It had started before Amanda could even remember; before she had known Georgia would never be where she'd stay, before Kimberly had decided that Georgia was all she was good enough for. When she wasn't scraping her knees, or finding excuses to get away from the house, Amanda spent her childhood playing bodyguard for her mother, and playing mother for Kim.

Unfortunately for Mrs. Rollins, neither of her daughters fit into her old-world South. Things seemed always to work out okay when their father was still around – even with his gambling. While Kim dreamed of breaking into her mother's world of parties, liquor and Cotillions, all Amanda had ever dreamed of was getting away from Loganville. Maybe her and her father together, if he wanted to leave.

Of course, he was gone before that ever became a possibility, leaving Amanda to pick up his responsibilities. There were no more Christmas Eves full of gambling and cold drives over the state line, then. Just keeping Kim alive quickly became a full time job; between drugs, petty theft, and the getting into mischief that her mental illness threw into the mix, it made for a lot of time spent around local cops. Amanda grew to love learning how the law worked, feeling more and more at home as time went on – only Amanda liked the view from behind the desk, whereas Kim preferred it behind bars. Or better yet, on her knees using sex to get her way, or get her out of trouble when all else failed.

Her addiction to rescuing Kim was often more self-destructive than the gambling habit she had picked up from their father. Ultimately, it had driven her out of Atlanta, whether she was ready to go or not. Logic told her that Kim chose to act out, over and over again, rather than deal with her real feelings; she knew that fishing her sister out of the trouble she was sinking in would never get them anywhere.

There was no fixing Kim, you could only hope the hurricane bypassed you and left minimal damage.

But this time, the damage was, well . . . monumental. This wasn't Kimberly fooling around, forging checks, trying to fit in with a better class of people. It had always been about money with that girl, but Amanda had thought that they loved each other enough to keep Kim from becoming outright cruel.

 _"Amanda, I know this is painful, but she is not your sister anymore."_

With everything she knew, and what Kim had managed to put her through in just a few days, Amanda still found words of defense, of excuse, falling out of her mouth.

She walked straight out of holding and got into a car, making a call to get the name of her sister's hotel even as she pulled away from the curb.

 _No. No,_ she told herself, _things had been going alright! She's havin' a baby, I'm gonna be an Aunt_ . . . It was finally a common goal they could work on. They could be real sisters, she had hoped. Kim wasn't smart enough, or cruel enough, to set her up to kill someone.

Was she?

Amanda chewed her bottom lip as she made her way to the hotel. Killing Jeff because he was a shitbag who beat on her sister was one thing . . . but killing someone because she had been made a fool by the most toxic person in her life, that she could lose sleep over.

Christ, what had she missed? How had she gone so wrong? Hot tears squeezed angrily onto the ridges of her cheeks. Maybe she should have brought Kim with her, when she came to Manhattan. Maybe, maybe . . . But the sliver of rationality that was still deep down in Amanda shook it's metaphorical head. _It's time to stop,_ it told her. _You don't have to do this anymore. Let her grow up._

Amanda was carried into the hotel on the wave of her own guilt, wondering where she could have put a stop to this current train wreck.

"Amanda."

"Kimberly."

"How'd you find me?"

"I'm a cop, Kim."

She fidgeted with the money in her hand that was for her Chinese food. Amanda could see she was afraid. "I'm not supposed to talk to you, so – "

"We need some sister time, me and you," she replied flatly.

"I know you're upset, and I'm . . . I'm sorry."

"You're sorry? You put me in jail."

"I didn't mean to. That Mr. Tucker, he said it was me or you," Kim explained, in her twisted version of common sense.

"Did you tell Jeff to come to New York?" Amanda cut in angrily.

"No." Amanda glared at her, and Kim folded immediately. "Maybe. Look, I was - I was lonely!"

 _The same old song_ , Amanda thought. It was like watching a toddler reach for and consider old toys. "Did you call him that night and tell him to come over? Was he even trying to rape you?!"

"You know what? Stop it, all right? You always do that!"

"I do what?" she asked, her tone softened as though speaking to a toddler.

"You make me feel like everything is my fault!"

"No, you know what?!" Amanda shouted, "You don't get to do that right now. You don't get to go there! It's true. You set me up. You set Jeff up. You _wanted_ me to kill him." Her voice was trembling as she processed how wrong she had been.

"He was a bad man, Amanda," Kim said matter-of-factly.

"Oh, my God . . . "

"He beat me. When you walked in, he was hurtin' me," Kim whined.

 _Now the sympathy play._ "Oh." Amanda fought a waved of nausea, doubling over with anger, hurt and fear.

"You know what your problem is?" Kim spat, switching gears immediately. "You're too big for your britches! You've always thought you were better than us."

"This is not happening," Amanda breathed, pushing back against her panic.

"Mama used to say that all that ambition would get you in trouble some day."

Kim's familiar reaching into the past washed over her unregistered as she got up to cross to the door.

"Are you even pregnant?" she asked finally.

"How can you even ask me that?"

"Don't – just don't . . . " Amanda whispered, defeated.

"I thought I was. I was a week late," Kim said to the closing door.

Amanda caught her breath, braced against the hotel room door as her tears rushed back, burning behind her lids.

 _. . . she is not your sister anymore_.

/ / /

Amanda took a long, hard look around her empty apartment after reading Kim's note aloud to Fin. It had been a very long 10 days, and all of a sudden there was no 'strong' left to hold her up anymore. Her legs buckled under her until she met the floor, sitting cross-legged on her calves.

Her ribcage ached, heaving out a sob that Amanda hardly identified as her own. Within a breath, Fin was there, crouched behind her with a comforting hand on her shoulder. He gave her a moments grace, then said her name, softly.

"Come crash at my place," he told her, "keep your mind outta this place for a while."

Too tired to protest or argue, she nodded weakly. "Lemme get a bag," Amanda whispered.

Fin stood again, offering her a hand back up to her feet. As he turned to go wait for her in the car, she reached out, catching him loosely by the sleeve. "Don't – " she swallowed, forced herself to meet his eyes. ""Don't tell anyone . . . please."

It was unclear if she meant _that Kim took my stuff_ , or _that you saw me cry,_ or even, _that you offered me more help._ But it was Fin, so it didn't matter because Amanda knew he would never speak a word that wasn't necessary.

She ignored the tears that flowed freely as she threw her things together, eager to get out of her apartment. Stopping at the door on her way out, she cast back one more glance.

 _Don't tell anyone that I still love my sister._

 _Don't tell them that I'm weak._

/ / /

"Nick, what's going on?"

"You should ask him," Nick snapped, nearly throwing his change into the vending machine.

"Okay," Liv answered, turning away.

"Really? You and Cassidy?" Amaro scorned.

Liv took a deep breath. "A: I didn't tell you, because it's none of your business."

Nick worked the muscle in his jaw, not meeting her eyes.

"And, B: it's not that big of a deal. And C: Nick, I didn't tell you, because I didn't want _this_ ," she motioned between the two of them.

He let out an annoyed sigh as Olivia walked away, then yanked his snack from the vending machine. Amaro only took issue with point B – it was a big deal, even if it shouldn't have been. Cassidy had come onto the scene during the Ganzel case, carrying a fistful of red flags. Maybe he worked in SVU once, but being under cover with dirt bags had changed the guy, in Nick's opinion.

Liv was his partner. Not only that, she was a great detective; she was smart, and well-put-together. How could she not see what Nick distrusted about the guy? Was it some sort of bad boy complex, he wondered?

 _She deserves better,_ Nick brooded, starting his paperwork in an angry scurry.

From the doorway of the Captain's office, Munch shook his head at Nick's temper tantrum. "Is there anyone who partners with Liv and doesn't fall for her?" he mused under his breath, turning back into the room.

/ / /

Brian could never tell her, but Liv was hot when she was pissed.

"Two witnesses put you in that bedroom with her, and she described the scar on your leg. _That_ one. See the problem?"

"Nothin' happened," Brian shrugged.

"So you weren't in that bedroom with her for two hours?" Liv raised an eyebrow.

"That part's true, but nothing happened," he insisted.

"So how does she know about the scar on your leg?" she pushed, her jealousy showing.

"I don't know. A million ways - it's not a state secret, Liv." He met her gaze, increasingly frustrated at the possibility that she could think he was guilty. "Hey, look! I didn't do this."

Liv sighed. "So what happened in that bedroom?"

"This pimp was a real piece of crap, okay? I knew she didn't want to be there. I couldn't blow my cover. So I just made up an excuse and went to the back bedroom, and we just talked."

"Okay," Liv replied.

"Okay, what? You _do_ believe me?"

"Of course I do!" Liv said, seemingly shocked. But Brian had seen her face when he'd told her what he was framed for, and he wasn't so sure.

And just like that, nearly a year into their relationship, he felt the first brick shake loose in the wall.

/ / /

Summer was finally coming to Manhattan, which was a welcome relief. The Spring had hung heavy in SVU, one harsh case after another wearing them down through the chill of rainy days. Taking down Chang's prostitution ring had carried them into mid-May, leaving them all wishing for sunny mornings and beds that weren't cots in the squad crib.

Liv was basking in the warm May breeze when she heard the shot. Crouching reflexively, the noise of people panicking washed over her, she took her gun from her holster without thinking about it, wrapping both hands around its butt, sheltering it between her legs. It was then that she heard Fin calling Amanda's name.

Liv moved then, oblivious to her cover, or whether the shooter was done firing. "Amanda! Amanda!" she called. Her stomach knotted, lurching as she dashed to the car behind hers. She dropped to her knees. "Amanda," she said again, putting a hand under the blonde's head where the hair was colored with blood.

"How bad?" Amaro asked from beside Olivia.

"I don't know. It came from up there," Fin answered. They followed his gaze up to the roof of a brick building across the street. "I got her."

"Let's go," Liv told Nick sternly. She was operating solely on white-hot panic and rage as they pounded a path across the pavement and to the building's roof.

It was, unsurprisingly, empty. From the edge of the roof, they watched as Fin picked up Rollins and bundled her into the back of the sedan. Liv's stomach was still churning, her adrenaline high. She only paused long enough to shake her head and catch a breath.

"Hospital," she said then, "now."

/ / /

The waiting area was already crowded with unis and SVU detectives when Nick and Liv joined the numbers. She wanted to sit, but her nerves wouldn't allow it, so she settled for pacing the short length of waiting room carpet. Fin had stayed in the hallway next to the room Amanda was in, waiting for news on whether or not she would need surgery.

Fin had been through plenty of partners over his years as a cop, and even his years with Munch had involved a shooting. But Amanda was the first time he had been officially paired with a woman partner. Fin was no misogynist, but the dynamic was undeniably different. After what he had helped her through with gambling, and her sister – he could put a bullet in whoever shot Amanda, with a smile on his face.

Once the doctor let him know what the verdict was, he slipped quietly into her room, unsure of what he might see.

"Fin!" She dragged his name out in a comical stage whisper, smiling triumphantly at him.

"What's up, girl?" he chuckled.

"It doesn't hurt," she assured him gravely, causing him to glance curiously at her IV machine.

"They got you on that happy mud," Fin told her approvingly. "It's just a shoulder wound. Straight through and through," he explained.

"Through and through," she slurred and then giggled. "Just through, n' through."

He chuckled again, touched by the purity of the moment. He felt relieved. "Just like I said."

Fighting the sleep that was dragging her eyes closed, Amanda said, "Did you get the guy that shot me?" She sighed, letting her eyes close.

Fin's expression clouded again, and he glanced away.

 _Not yet_ , he thought, _but I sure as hell will. You can count on that._

/ / /

As it started to become obvious that Earl Tally was a waste of time, Olivia left Fin and Amaro to finish up with him. She drove herself quietly back in the direction of Bellevue. At the last corner bodega before the hospital, Liv hauled over and got out. When she got back in the sedan, she was carrying a bouquet of mixed flowers.

Liv found the door to Amanda's room ajar, and she peered around it anxiously at first. Rollins was asleep again, so she slipped in without a sound. She was surprised – and maybe confused – by how much the ambitious blonde had grown on her over the last almost two years. It wasn't like her, to feel drawn to anyone, other than her partners or her sometimes significant others.

At the side of the bed, Liv watched Amanda's heavy, but even, breathing. The last time she had watched a blonde colleague get shot, it had ended in believing they were dead, then losing her for more than a year. Perhaps it was the memory of the world falling out from under her, when she had been told Alex was dead, that had compelled her back to Amanda's hospital room. Of course, with Alex . . .

 _that was different_ , Liv thought. _I loved her._

She could hardly really say she knew Rollins that well, outside of the precinct, could she? Not to mention she was still seeing Brian. They had managed to make it beyond the awkwardness of the Heather Riggs case, and for a while Liv had coasted along on the high of being in an adult relationship. With Bri back at the courthouse, and SVU's intense Spring, they had slipped back into their familiar pattern of a couple working long, erratic hours.

Liv shook her head, pulling herself back from where her mind was trying to lead her. "Quit It," she hissed at herself.

"Liv?" Amanda said, her voice still sleepy.

Olivia startled, turning her gaze back to the bed. "Hey." She smiled. "How you doin'?"

"I'm fine. They dialled my pain meds down some, so I could be coherent when you guys come talk to me. You get anywhere with Tally?" she asked, sitting up a little straighter.

"Not unless you consider him puking all over himself getting somewhere," Liv grimaced.

"Yeah . . . our momma always did say he'd be the first addict to ever literally fly if drugs could manage it," Amanda chuckled.

Olivia turned, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed. She held up the flowers. "I thought you could use something to color the room," she told her.

Eyes wide, Amanda took the flowers and looked them over. "They're beautiful," she smiled. "Thank you."

"Amanda . . . I wish you had said something about the texts from Chang's girls," Liv replied. "Maybe we could've avoided this."

Amanda sighed, but there was no anger in it. "Those girls have more to be concerned with than tryin'ta take me out. And, we both know that if Chang intended to, I'd be in a body bag, not a hospital bed."

She had a point – albeit one that made the knot in Liv's belly twitch in ghostly echo of that morning's fear. Liv cocked her head. "Anyone ever tell you how stubborn you are, Rollins?"

Amanda chuckled. "It's been mentioned once or twice, yeah."

The two women looked at one another, smiling softly. _Maybe I really do have Nightingale Syndrome_ , Liv thought wonderingly. Then the door swung open again, breaking their stare.

"You were right about Earl," Fin announced. "Couldn't shoot himself in the foot if he had a shotgun taped to his ankle."

/ / /

Olivia stepped out of the Interview Room, brimming with a wrath that she hadn't experienced in years. This was no small feat, in a job where she had to interrogate scum on nearly a daily basis. Her belly was soured by her disgust, turning down the corners of her mouth as she narrowed her eyes at Cragen.

"You should have held the lawyer off. I was so close."

 _"Or do you want to hear how, at the beginning, she said she would do anything? I mean, she begged me for her life . . ."_

"He was playing you," Cragen returned simply.

 _" . . . and by the morning time, she was begging me to take her out of her misery."_

"I had him," Liv hissed. "He was getting off on telling me the details."

 _"Which one do you think I enjoyed more?"_

"He wasn't confessing; every phrase was couched in a hypothetical," Barba said coolly, hoping to smother some of her anger.

"Well, it doesn't matter. I mean, don't we have him?" Nick pointed out, catching in his peripheral Olivia's slump over the nearby filing cabinet.

"Her rape kit just came back," Amanda said, joining the group. "His DNA is all over her, the bed, the stove knobs – "

"Stove knobs?" Liv queried.

"He branded her," Nick answered.

She closed her eyes in horror, turning away to the two-way glass. _"What I did . . . you should be so lucky someone does that to you."_

"We also found her cameras and jewelry at a pawn shop. The owner ID'd Lewis," Fin shared.

Barba murmured, "Whoever he is, and whatever he has done before, he's going away for life now." He turned to Cragen. "Is the victim up to a Grand Jury?"

"Well, the hospital releases her tonight, but can't we spare her that?"

"I'll take a lineup tomorrow."

As the others headed back down the hallway, Amanda took a breath. "Liv, I've put this guy into ViCAP. I've searched the databases. You know, I know he has a record, I just can't find it," she told her.

Liv's anger banked slightly at the sound of Amanda's voice. "Did you try inverting his names, different spellings?" she offered.

"Yeah, in all the states he said he lived in."

"In the states that he _said_ that he lived in. Let's try the neighboring states," Olivia smirked with vitriol, starting down to the bullpen with the blonde at her side.

/ / /

Olivia wanted a fucking omelette. Not as bad as she wanted Billy Lewis behind bars, but since that seemed to be off the table, she'd settle for making herself a real breakfast. Cassidy was coming over when his shift was finished, but until then she could treat herself.

She picked out a dozen eggs, then took her time near the vegetables, fingering peppers, chives, mushrooms. "Caramelized onions," Liv mumbled to herself, _does Bri like onions?_ Immediately followed by, _Shouldn't I know that by now?_

His turning down her suggestion to see the Plein Air painters wasn't really what was bothering her; it was their rhythm . . . their sync. Or lack thereof. Brian was intense sex, and weekend baseball, and sometimes a romantic restaurant dinner. There was no hint of a right-brain with Brian at all, and it made the idea of growing their relationship in other directions frustrating. On the other hand, however . . .

Liv's home life was balanced against her work life for the first time in years. It wasn't something that she was in any rush to change again, which made speaking up harder and harder each time she was disappointed. So, they hadn't gone to the Whitney – of course, it ended up not mattering anyway, thanks to Amanda's smart call on Lewis – but now, even breakfast was hard.

Forcing herself to choose an onion, some cheese and a bag of oranges, Liv tried to shake it off. As she paid for everything, she thought of Rollins' sweet dog, Frannie, and that got her smiling again. How she had underestimated the fresh-faced blonde, less than two years ago. The woman had balls of brass, and instinct sharp enough to cut teeth on. For once, Liv enjoyed having another woman detective in the squad.

Her apartment was dark as pitch as the door opened, before she flicked on the light. She made up her mind that she would press Brian to suggest something for this weekend, since her painters idea had gone South. Feeling better, Liv dropped her keys and phone onto the counter on either side of the groceries. She pulled out the eggs, still dreaming of a delicious fluffy omelette – and that was when she heard the creak.

How many times had she heard a noise and pulled her gun, over the years? Dozens? But now there was Brian, and she had let her guard down. Too soon . . . or maybe too late.

"Welcome home, Detective Benson," Lewis said, cocking his gun between her eyes.

Her breathing shallowed as she looked at him, frozen in place. The gun closed the distance between them, stroking the line of her jaw. As his hands clamped onto her upper arms, preparing to shove her into her living room, her mind echoed his words back:

 _What I did . . . you should be so lucky someone does that to you._

/ / /

Across the city, under the same electric Summer sky, an alcohol-soothed Amanda was pulling on a tank top with her panties to sleep in. She sat heavily onto the side of the mattress, curling a leg under her and picking up her cell phone from the bedside table.

 _I should text Liv_ , she thought.

Her mind immediately doubled back – _Why? Cassidy is probably there now. She's fine._

Thumbs hesitating over the keypad, Amanda sighed. She had never quite wrapped her mind around the Liv and Cassidy thing, and not just because sometimes her thoughts about Liv were more than just friendly. He seemed so familiar, in his overly-cautious relationship maneuvers – too much like the men Amanda herself had busied her time with, before leaving the South.

Rollins stretched out in the bed, throwing a light blanket over her legs. She started a message to Olivia: **Hey – just got home, wanted to make sure you're doing alright** , then deleted it.

 _Coward_ , she taunted herself.

 **Just got home, and thought I'd see if you're making out okay** . . . finger hovering over the send button.

"Fuck," she snapped at last, tossing the phone with the unsent message still lighting up the screen back onto the table. She pulled up the blanket, screwing her eyes shut. "You'll see her in two days anyway," she mumbled to herself.

/ / /

Olivia came twisting, unsteadily back to consciousness. At the stomp of a boot, she startled and whimpered. There would be no convincing herself, this time, that it had been a bad dream.

"Hey, there she is - those big, beautiful brown eyes. So beautiful . . . give me a smile," Lewis told her.

Her eyes rolled in their sockets, desperately trying to shake off shock and disorientation.

"Still feeling woozy, huh? That's all right," he told her, leaning down and gripping her by the arms. He grunted as he hefted her into the chair he had situated in the middle of the living room. "We got time."

Liv shied away from his hands on her, making the only sounds of dissent she could muster. "Mm-mm."

"Shh . . . oh, come on, don't be shy. We're past that. You've been so sweet when you were knocked out," he chided.

She struggled to remember anything that had happened, something she felt when she was out, but of course there was nothing. Her skin was sticky with blood, and the sweat of pain and fear.

"Another drink?" he offered. "Oh - why don't I take off that tape so you can say yes?" She nodded, and he shoved the muzzle of her gun against her chin. "One thing: you scream again, I'll shove your own gun right down your throat."

Olivia spit in to his face as soon as she could part her lips. "You know what? Shoot me," she told him lowly.

"That's the endgame, sweetheart. We got a lot of shock and awe to go before we do that." Lewis wiped her bloody spit with his fingers, then tasted them, and Liv's stomach heaved. Darting forward, he forced her mouth open, preparing to force more vodka into her. She strangled out her protest, as her phone rang, distracting him.

"That's probably my boyfriend," she informed him. "He's N.Y.P.D. He's on his way over here now."

"Boyfriend, huh?" Lewis sighed.

"Yes."

"Does he have keys?"

"Yes, he does."

"It's funny that I don't see much of his stuff around. One robe in the bathroom, one toothbrush. You wouldn't lie to me, would you?"

"Let's think about what you're doing now," she redirected.

"Oh, I'm thinkin' about it," he grinned.

Liv pushed on, desperately needing to get a foothold and some of her control back. "You walk out that door right now, no one will know anything happened to me."

"What about that pert little detective - the blonde one - huh? She's not gonna notice all the bruises, all the cuts?"

"Cab stopped short. I hit my face on the divider," Liv suggested, as she thought, _Rollins would tear you limb from limb with just her fingernails._

"What about this?" Lewis sneered, jabbing her near her shoulder. She yelped. "What about these burns, huh? She's like a dog with a bone, that one."

Flashes of memory, of hot objects and cigarettes scorching her skin. Her eyes moistened with tears she refused to shed. "So what? You've done far worse and gotten away with it. Your lawyer friend, the redhead . . . she'll accuse N.Y.P.D. of framing you after the trial."

"Mistrial."

"Lewis, go. Get the hell out of New York. You walk out that door, and we will pretend that this never happened." He wasn't stupid enough to buy it, but she was desperate just to have him away from her.

"You'd pretend that this didn't happen, would you?" He stroked her sweat-soaked hair, then gripped and yanked her head backwards.

"You're lying. There's something I think that you should hear." He held her cell phone to her ear, and Liv heard Brian's voice:

 _Hey, Liv, it's me. Uh, look, I know we were talking about getting together, um, tomorrow, but these guys are jerking me around over here. I got to pull a double. Uh, anyway, don't be mad at me. Hey, I'm the one stuck at the Bronx courthouse, right? I'm sorry about this. I owe you one. All right, bye._

Lewis put the phone atop her head, letting it slip and go crashing to the floor. "Guess he's not coming."

Olivia's stomach cramped with fear, and fresh anger. "Billy . . . " she forced herself to soften her voice, "I'm offering you a way out."

"You're still bargaining with me? Really?! We're past that," he barked, pointing her gun at her head again.

"I'm an N.Y.P.D. detective. My partner, my squad . . . the entire department will hunt you down. You think that you've put people through hell? It will rain back down on you," she threatened, knowing now that there was no hope of a quick rescue or bargaining.

Lewis smirked. "You know what? Let it rain."

The last thing Olivia saw before she went into the quiet darkness was Elliot's miniature NYPD shield, complete with his badge number. She'd had it welded to the bottom of the butt of her gun about a year before, after receiving it in the mail, along with a US Marines pin, with their motto – _Semper Fi._

 _Always faithful._

If those were her final sight and thought, she decided, then she was at peace with that.

/ / /

Donald Cragen couldn't remember the last time he had been so dangerously nauseous on the clock. As an alcoholic cop, with more than 30 years on the job, that was something to be proud of – but all he was in the moment was sick, and terrified.

"It's him. It's Lewis," he said. He was white as a sheet.

"Yeah, he tied her up. He duct-taped her mouth. Her hair, her blood . . . Captain, it-it's everywhere," Amanda stammered. The room spun in answer to her panic, and she crouched to a knee, trying to catch her breath.

"He might have taken her down the fire escape. The window's open. Her bedding's gone," Amaro inventoried.

"Any sign of her cell?" Cragen asked.

"No, it's not in the apartment, but TARU's tracking it," Amanda answered.

"Canvass the building, the neighborhood. Check all surveillance cams," Cragen ordered.

"There's a pan on the stove with keys. It smells like burnt hair or flesh," Fin advised grimly.

Cragen grew somehow paler, ashen. "Son of a bitch."

On the carpet beyond the kitchen, Rollins closed her eyes. _I'll kill him myself, I swear to God . . ._

"A detective has been kidnapped. You bag everything. I got to call one P.P." He turned to Amaro. "You find him."


	4. IV: Eclipse

**A/N: Hope everyone made it through the waiting for this chapter! Here it is, as promised. Please read and review. This was a heavy, dark one, folks. I'm exhausted. Your support means everything, so thank you all. There will be another chapter, so fear not.**

 **Spoilers: Her Negotiation, Surrender Benson**

 **Trigger/Content Warnings: STRONG warnings for the Lewis arc, including kidnap, assault, torture, forced intoxication, rape, attempted rape, and violence. Please skip this chapter and wait for 5 if those things are too much for you. 3**

 **Rating: M for violence, mature themes, mentions of assault.**

 **Disclaimer: The characters used herein are the intellectual and legal property of Dick Wolf and NBC. No money is being made from this body of work. I do solemnly swear that I have been up to no good with them, and my mischief is managed.**

 **Equinox**

 _IV: Eclipse_

For Olivia, everything had been reduced to moments of semi-consciousness.

 _The smell of her bedding._

 _Starlight._

 _Summer night air._

 _The grit and must of an old car._

She recognized she was in a trunk. At least Lewis wouldn't - couldn't - rape her in a trunk. Liv let her eyes close. There, in the dark, Elliot came to her. It was a dream, of course – she wasn't so concussed that she didn't know it to be – but it helped slow her breathing, a small respite.

 _"Hey, Liv,"_ El's voice rumbled. She could feel his arms around her, unlocking some of her fear-rigid muscles.

 _Elliot_ , she spoke without moving her mouth. _I'm scared_.

 _"I know. It's okay,"_ he told her softly.

 _He's going to kill me_ , she whimpered.

 _"No."_

 _He's going to rape me. It's the same thing_ , she countered.

 _"That's fear talking,"_ El whispered. Liv felt the brush of his dream lips against her temple. _"The Liv I know wouldn't give up so fast."_

 _Says the one who gave up on the entire force._

He smiled. _"Leaving the force wasn't hard. Leaving you was hell. You have to wake up now, Liv."_ She felt his fingers tap the hollow of her throat, where her necklace rested. _"Leave them this,"_ he explained. His arms reached, undoing the gold chain. _"Wake up, Olivia,"_ he urged.

Liv's eyes fluttered open in the dim shadows of the trunk. She could hear Lewis, at the driver's side, heard the pop of the trunk latch. She put her cuffed hands together, thumbs in, and brought them close to her throat, managing to hook one under her necklace. She pulled, and the necklace came away easily.

It was undone.

Quickly, she dropped it near the back of the trunk, nudging it as far out of sight as she could. Lewis was at the trunk then. "Wake up, Olivia," he called cheerfully. "We've got a date!"

The light was harsh, flooding her vision before he stepped into it. Lewis took her by the upper arms and helped her sit up, then pulled her out completely. "C'mon, hurry up," he barked, "time's a-wastin'."

Liv glanced over her shoulder as he turned to shut the trunk again. The necklace was pushed up under the edge of the spare tire. It would have to do.

He pushed her into the house, steering her with one hand, the other still holding a gun. The last sleeping pill he'd forced her to swallow seemed to be wearing off, and she was able to focus enough to glance at their surroundings. It was no place she knew. The home was large and clean, except for the destruction that Lewis had wrought.

An older man was unconscious on the floor of the eat-in kitchen, bound and gagged.

"Don't waste your time worryin' about him, darlin'," Lewis told her, "just collateral damage." He shoved her into the bedroom, just off the room where that man was dying, and finally pushed her onto the four-poster bed there.

Another person, already in the room, whimpered. Liv craned her neck, and saw an older woman with a mascara-streaked face, moaning into her own piece of duct tape.

"Olivia, meet Susan, our new friend," Lewis grinned. He pulled out a cigarette and lit up. "We're gonna have some fun together – as soon as I get . . . comfortable."

Part of Liv wanted to try and console the other woman - despite her own peril – but mostly Olivia was just ashamed. Nothing made her angrier or more ashamed than the loss of her power and control. Lewis knew it; it was part of why he had chosen her. She was tired, hungover from pills and forced drinking, nauseous, coated in sweat from fear.

She listened as William went back and forth, smoking his cigarette and moving things around the house. Then he was carrying a bottle of wine, swigging from it, pacing.

Liv was sure that the pistol-whipping had given her a concussion. From the looks of it, the woman with them had been worked over some, too. At last, Lewis came into the room and ended his pacing. He took his time untying Susan, taking off her duct tape. He levelled the gun at her when she was freed, leering at her.

"Strip," he ordered. "Or die. Your choice."

/ / /

"Lewis was right. You _do_ have a vendetta against him," Vanessa Mayer huffed, stalking across the courthouse hallway.

"Counselor, your client broke into Detective Benson's apartment two nights ago. Now, he either killed her, or he's holding her captive," Cragen explained.

"You're out of your mind. I just saw him."

"When? Where?" Rollins snapped.

"This is harassment. I don't have to answer your questions," the redhead sneered, turning and starting down the corridor.

Amanda went after her, her stomach churning with rage and with fear. "Counselor, hey. Look, these . . . these are pictures from that Detective's apartment."

"You have the wrong suspect. I was with him all day yesterday."

"Where?" Cragen asked.

"We drove out to Long lsland."

"In a Lincoln?"

"Yes."

Amanda nodded. "He stole it. Where'd you go?"

"He said he wanted to go to the beach to clear his head," Vanessa replied, her voice finally faltering, faintly.

"Okay, so, on this drive, did he . . . did he stop the car? Did he ever check the trunk?"

"No."

"We have reason to believe Detective Benson was in that car," Cragen told her.

"No, the car was empty," she protested.

"Did you stop anywhere?"

"I had to get back to the city. And before he dropped me at the train station, we stopped for dinner."

"Where?"

"At my parents' house in Bellport."

Amanda could finally see a flicker of doubt, and nervousness, creep from the lawyer's voice into her eyes. _Good_ , she thought, _good, you oblivious bitch. Better late to the game than never._

/ / /

Olivia's head was spinning , again, thanks to the wine and vodka that Lewis had been forcing down her throat each time he took a break. She was tied to a chair again, trying hard not to puke while her mouth was still duct taped.

Lewis had been assaulting the older woman for hours, forcing her to watch by threat of burning Susan if she didn't. Her eyes rolled erratically, the combination of liquor, concussion, and shock making it almost impossible to focus. Susan was sobbing as he raped her, having given up screaming a while before.

"Are you looking, Olivia? I said _watch_!" Lewis grunted, twisting his head to see her in the chair. Her eyes were drooping again. He took his cigarette from the bedside table and pushed it into the old woman's bare shoulder.

The piercing scream jolted Liv in her chair. For a second, she had thought it was her own screaming, and nearly wet her pants in terror. She forced her eyes open a few moments more, but then she was out of luck; the darkness slid over her again like a veil, and everything was blessedly quiet.

"Ah, s'just as well," William slurred when he realized she was unconscious, "I'm just about done with this one anyway."

/ / /

"Ride with the vic!" Cragen called to Amanda.

Rollins piled into the ambulance behind the stretcher, leaning over Mrs. Mayer. "Tell me what happened, Susan. Who did this?"

"She said his name is Billy," the woman gasped. "My daughter brought him. We all had supper together. He drove her to the train station . . . and then he came back."

"Can you tell me what happened after Lewis came back?"

"He held a gun on me, and he m-made me take off my clothes. He made . . . oh, God. He made her watch while he raped me!" she sobbed.

"And this woman - did she say anything?"

"No. She had duct tape on her mouth. He told her to keep her eyes open. Anytime she tried to close them, he held put a lit . . . lit cigarette on me." Mayer faltered, growing faint again.

Amanda panicked, leaning in even closer, desperate: "Was this woman - was she with him when he left?"

"Detective," the medic warned.

"She . . . she passed out."

"She was alive," Amanda said, mostly to herself. "Could you tell that she was alive?"

"You're done, Detective," the medic snapped.

The shriek of the siren throbbed in Rollins' ears as she sat back hard against the wall of the bus, her pulse so rapid that she was near to panting. _She was alive . . . Liv's alive_ , she thought. _She has to be, because if she's not . . . I'm going to kill him_.

/ / /

Olivia had officially lost all track of time. When she was conscious now, there was light, or there was dark. At the moment, there was only the roof of the vehicle they were traveling in, as Lewis had wedged her between the front and back seats, on the floor. He had parked and gone, maybe a half hour ago, while she was coming out of another medicated booze haze.

She wondered if the squad was getting close to finding them. Wondered if she was going to die, at the hands of this sadistic S. O. B. She fantasized about seeing Elliot again; about him showing up to save her, even though there was no realistic hope of that happening.

The dome light popped on. "Hey, I'm back. I got us some supplies," Lewis told her cheerily. "What, are you resting? Upsy-Daisy." He lifted her from the floor, settling her against the back seat. Liv rolled her head from side to side, her cop instincts wanting some clue of where they were, but it was just a dark parking lot.

"That a girl. There you go. Okay, arms behind your back." He secured her wrists. "There you go. There you go. Okay. Man - I _love_ hardware stores. I got a tarp, some rope, uh, extra duct tape, some surprises for later, and some drinks. How's that sound, huh? If I take the tape off, you'll be a good girl?"

"Mm-hmm," she mumbled.

"Yeah? Okay. There you go. You thirsty, sweetheart? Yeah? Here you go," he opened a new bottle of vodka. Liv's stomach rolled at the sight. "Oh, no, no, no. Hey, hey," he said, chasing her lips with the bottleneck, "you don't get to say 'no' anymore, okay?" Lewis sighed as she still resisted. "All right, you have some vodka, and I'll give you some water . . . okay?"

He laid a bottle of water against her stomach. The sheer clean, cold of it was enough to make her relent.

"That's it - suck it down. Suck it down . . . yeah, that's it," he urged. Liv choked at the sudden rush of liquid down her dry, sore throat, attempting to spit out as much as she could. "Swallow. Shh, shh. Shh, shh, shh. The Vicodin and the sleeping pills - they give you dry mouth, right?"

"Water," she whispered.

"I know - I promised. I'm a man of my word. Like . . . when I told you about that lady. And I told you what I was gonna do to her, right? I told her everything, and then I did everything that I said, didn't I? Huh?" He grabbed her face, angry, "Didn't I? Yeah. There you go." Liv took a frantic drink, trying to suck in as much as possible. "Okay, that's enough. I think we're gonna find it soon."

"Find what?" she asked.

"Someplace special."

Liv's eyes widened in the moonlight, interpreting what he meant. She moved towards the water again, and he poured it out on the pavement, then crumpled the bottle and shoved the plastic into her tank top. He put the strip of duct tape back over her mouth, then kissed her mouth over it, drawing an exhausted whimper of disgust from her.

"One move," Lewis warned her, "lights out. I'll do you cold."

/ / /

"And the two girls in Alabama: Roommates. He breaks into their apartment, puts them in the trunk of their own car. He drives them to a fishing cabin. Then he holds them there for three days. He rapes, tortures – " Amanda cut short, seeing Cassidy's expression, "Um, he leaves them there tied up, but they manage to escape."

"So he lets them all live," Brian said.

"Not always. His first lawyer girlfriend, in Maryland . . . he took her to a foreclosed house. He holds her there for almost two days, leaves her for dead."

"No news is good news," Munch contributed, "The car hasn't been spotted on any bridges, tunnels, or ferries."

"Okay. Then he's still on Long lsland," Cragen returned, heading to the map onscreen.

"Well, yeah, well, he told his lawyer that he wanted to clear his mind, go to the beach," Rollins said, stepping up next to the Captain.

"The beach in Long lsland?" Cassidy echoed, his voice hollow. "Which beach, hmm? North shore, South shore, the bay? Do you know how many beach houses there are in Long lsland?"

Amanda narrowed her eyes. "I was just trying to help," she told him curtly.

"By going on about how brutal this psycho is?" Cassidy goaded.

"Brian," Cragen warned.

"Y'think you're the only one who's scared, Cassidy?!" Amanda snapped, taking a step toward him.

Brian chuckled derisively. "Scared? Really?" He matched her step forward. "I'm way past that."

"Okay, enough!" Cragen barked. "Amanda, go cool off. Brian, go with Munch; take a walk."

The detectives broke their gaze at each other and went in opposite directions. Amanda marched to the locker room, fuming beyond what she had let Cassidy see. She paced a short, terse line in front of the bank of lockers. _I can't take this anymore. Where are they? Fuck!_

Amanda hadn't slept since Sunday night before her Monday shift. The longer Liv was missing, the more out of control Amanda felt. Now that asshole thought he was the only one who cared enough for it to matter. _Well, fuck that_.

"Ugh!" she screamed, throwing out a kick to the nearest locker.

"Sound like you need a few minutes of shut-eye, partner."

Amanda whirled on Fin in the doorway, her chest heaving with her anger. She snorted. "Couldn't if I wanted to," she told him, and sighed. She dropped onto the bench alongside where she'd been pacing, fingers pressed to her temples. "Not until we get her back."

Fin said nothing, but came to the bench, sitting down beside her.

"What if she's dead," she whispered.

Non-committal, as ever, Fin simply pursed his lips into a line, looked at the floor. Amanda wondered about all his years on the job, about what he had seen.

Or maybe he had always known too much, and spoke very little.

"All you gotta do, is go back out there, and manage not to throw a punch until Cassidy leaves," Fin advised slowly. "From what I hear, the whole squad managed it for a year, before he transferred to Narcotics."

She laughed. Amanda took a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I hear ya."

"C'mon, let's go find Liv." Fin stood, motioning for Amanda to follow him back to the bullpen.

/ / /

It was bright out, early morning, the next time Lewis pulled Liv from the car. He half-dragged her to the door of a small beach house, then inside. In the master bedroom there was an iron bed frame with mattress, but no sheets. He tossed her onto it, turning away to deal with his supplies.

"I got to lose the car. It won't take me that long, though." William ripped a piece of duct tape with his teeth. "Are you gonna miss me?"

Olivia whimpered; the pressure of her bladder was incredible. She had needed to go for a very long time, but he had taken nearly every other thing from her; she wasn't about to lose her dignity by pissing her pants.

"Hmm?" She moaned again, and he followed her line of sight, to a small bathroom off the room they were in. "Of course," he chuckled, "It's been a long time." He finished tearing another piece of tape. "All that vodka, right? Let's go."

He stood back, leering as she tried to lift herself from the bed. Still, she made the effort, refusing to give in to him right away. Despite the circumstances, Liv couldn't get her core muscles to pull her upright, and she moaned in sadness and frustration.

"Do you need help?" Lewis asked quietly. "I can help you." His tone was hollow, and his eyes suddenly colder than normal. Liv's stomach knotted as he threw the duct tape aside, lunging at her. His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her to her feet as smooth as if it was foreplay.

Perhaps it was, for him.

They were nearly nose to nose, the butt of his gun under her chin. Liv was too tired to flinch. After a beat, Lewis spun her in the direction of the bathroom. Would he undo her wrists? Hold the gun on her while she lowered her pants? Would he try, finally, to assault her sexually? Her mind raced.

Then she was standing in front of the toilet, facing Lewis, still cuffed. His eyes tried to hold her tired ones as he levelled the gun at her, then used his free hand to pull her belt open. Seconds ground to a halt.

He popped the button on her dark jeans.

Lowered her zipper.

He reached out, lowering each side of her pants with her panties, one at a time, using just one hand. Liv held her breath, refusing to look lower than his face. "Take a piss already," Lewis barked finally.

Liv sat, finding the cool of the toilet seat and the relief astounding. When she finished, she was momentarily paralyzed again, by the fear that he would try to wipe for her. But he was antsy – jonesing again, maybe – and merely yanked her back to her feet, roughly getting her pants back on. He even took the pains to re-buckle her belt.

Then she was back on the bare mattress, her hands handcuffed, this time to the iron bed frame.

"Try not to miss me too much," Lewis smirked.

At last, Liv was alone.

/ / /

Cragen had decided that it was safer, for the time being, to keep Rollins around the precinct – so Fin and Amaro went out to question the hardware store owner. But Fin always had Amanda's back, and he kept her in the loop without having to be asked.

Now, Amanda was standing in the ladies' room of the bar Fin had brought her to, staring dazedly at the concrete brick wall at the end of the sinks. They'd told Cragen that Fin was taking her home to try and sleep.

 _Tarp, rope, wire, hand-held blowtorch_ : William Lewis' shopping list for psychopaths had been banging around in her brain like a bumper car gone off its circuit.

 _Tarp, rope, wire, hand-held blowtorch_.

Blowtorch. Christ. Her eyes burned, from lack of sleep and tears she had so far been too scared to shed. Deep down, Amanda needed to see . . . how much she had to blame herself for. Was Liv dead? How hurt was she?

What had Olivia suffered, all because Amanda couldn't keep from involving herself in every goddam thing? Had she ruined what could now be Liv's last day off ever, to bring this maniac into the squad and get her killed?

 _Please, no_ , she thought, her lip trembling. _Please, God_. Without conscious thought, her fist shot out into brick.

"Whoa!" a woman who had stepped in, just in time to catch it, shouted. "Man troubles, honey?" the woman asked, with genuine concern.

Rollins looked down, noticing that she had split a knuckle. "I wish," she muttered, and left the bathroom.

Fin noticed, immediately, when she sat down again. He frowned, and signalled the bartender, ordering a glass with just ice.

"I'm fine, Fin," she mumbled.

But her voice and her hand shook in defiance of her as he held the cold glass against her still-swelling hand.

/ / /

It had been a while since Lewis had doped her up, or kept her forcibly drunk. Liv's adrenaline reserves had kicked in, once he was out of the beach house and she could take a deep breath again.

She didn't waste any time, trying to suss out how sturdy the bed frame really was. Pulling, with as much strength and leverage she could scrape together, she made a real effort to break away the metal rod that she was handcuffed around.

Urging herself on, she would heave and think of something each time, that she wanted when this was all over. Assuming that she survived it, of course.

 _A hot bath_. Heave.

 _A hair cut_. Yank.

 _An entire bottle of ibuprofen_. Pull. Harder!

 _I want him dead_ , she thought coldly. Kicking her feet out in anger, tugging desperately.

Discouraged, Liv rested for a minute, then decided she would add more weight. She walked her legs across the mattress, scooting her butt along. Finally, her weight shifted, off the bed and toward the floor. She straightened until her arms had the room to really pull, then used the entirety of her weight to continue her work. Her hands felt like they were going to pop off – and at that point, so be it.

 _I want William Lewis dead_ , she thought again, getting comfortable with the idea.

Not too long after that thought, she heard the front door again. She caught her breath, and stilled.

He swaggered into the room, sucking on another one of his beloved alcoholic energy drinks. When his gaze turned to her, his grin fell. "Look at you," he chastised. Crumpling the can in his hand, he tossed it. "You going somewhere?"

William came to the bed, throwing her weight back onto the mattress like an afterthought. "Not without me, you're not." Liv moaned in pain. "I told you I'd be right back!" He yanked off the duct tape covering her mouth.

Taking a deep breath, Lewis centered himself, focusing again on the bed. "We'll cuff your hands right here . . . " he moved to the foot, "We'll tie up your feet – " he yanked her feet down, straining her bruised wrists, and Liv cried out. "Right here. Oh, man," he chuckled, "a real old-fashioned iron-frame bed. This . . . I knew this place would be perfect. You want me to burn your clothes off or cut them off?"

She focused at the ceiling, ignoring him vigorously.

"Scissors . . . I need some scissors. Where's the scissors? There's got to be some scissors around here, right?" He opened drawers aimlessly, shut them again, muttering to himself. "Oh, not in here - the kitchen." Then his soft chuckle again, making her skin crawl. He left the room and Liv spiralled, twisting with terror, wanting so desperately to cry. "Nope. No luck. Oh, wait a second. That's pretty perfect."

Lewis appeared from the doorway to her right, holding what appeared to be a can opener, with a sharp point. He laughed, but then became curious when he saw her expression. "What's that look? Are you feeling sad? Thinking about someone you're never gonna see again?" Straddling the end of the bed, he placed the can opener at her ankles, slicing the duct tape there. "Mom? Dad? Boyfriend?" Then the duct tape above her knees.

Olivia staunchly refused to meet his eyes.

"No, huh? Someone else . . . someone who you would give _anything_ to see just one more time." He made his way back to the head of the bed, and placed a frighteningly intimate kiss on the exposed inside of her arm.

She groaned in disgust, disturbed and weakened by his ability to read her. An ability that he shouldn't fucking have at all, let alone be as good at as he had been proving. Unable to stop herself - not sure she would if she could - it was _Elliot_ who filled her head – Elliot, not Brian.

Not Brian.

Twelve years, like a raindrop in the middle of a storm. Liv thought of his crooked grin, of his flashing temper, of the smell of his cologne from the kids every Christmas. She thought of everything, all of it, at once: his incredible shape for his age, his stormy Irish eyes, the sound of his voice

 _(I love you, Liv)_

and how she had known, the moment their bodies had fit together, that she could never love another man the same way.

"You're gonna cry his name out . . . at some point," Lewis confessed in a whisper, "they always do. Well, just try to put him out of your mind, okay? 'Cause you don't make it out of here alive."

Everything else . . . every tactic had failed. All of a sudden, Liv did a one-eighty, grinning wickedly at Lewis. "You know what? You might want to keep me around. I know what you like."

"Well, then you've been holding out on me."

"Yes, but that's what you want, isn't it? Hard to get and then begging for it. Hmm? I know how to get you off."

"You do?"

"Yeah. Kentucky . . . Alabama . . . I've seen the photos. I probably know more details about it than you remember," she challenged.

"Oh, I doubt that."

"I've seen a lot of things, but I've never seen anything like this. You're not some punk."

"Don't try and play me now," he warned.

"No, I'm not playing you. No, 'cause I know you don't like that. Those two girls at the cabin - you hung one by her arm in the closet, and you made her listen while you did the other one for _two days_. Did you . . . did you even sleep?"

"I don't need sleep, not after I get on a roll. You're gonna find that out," he bragged.

"When?"

"Now."

"Well, then you might want to loosen these cuffs or take 'em off," she smirked. She told herself that maybe she could survive it, if she offered him sex instead of him taking it. All she wanted was just the slightest inch of control back . . . just something, a sniff of dignity.

"Yeah? Is that right?"

As much as it sickened her, Liv could tell she was turning him on. But he hated it. She fascinated him because usually, the only thing that got him going was the play of his power over weak victims. Lewis had never been on level playing ground with a woman, and it scared him. He was running out of time, to fuck her, to prove that he was still the stronger. In all their time together he could have had it over with half a dozen times before even two days passed, but each time he had choked. The only thing that seemed to scare her was the gun.

"Yeah. I know you like a struggle. You want to show me how strong you are, overpower me, pin my arms behind my back . . . "

"No." His voice fell flat.

"Come on," she coaxed.

It was too much for him. He felt his control slipping, and the moment Liv had barely gained fell out from under her, with consequences. "No!" Lewis growled, and he straddled her in the blink of an eye, placing the barrel of her gun in her mouth.

Olivia whimpered as her body ran hot and cold all over, the room spun, passing out became a real possibility. "You don't tell me what to do. Okay?" She nodded, her dark eyes suffused with terror. "Now you say . . . " he prompted, pulling the gun away.

Finally breaking, her eyes spilled over with tears. "I want to live," she whimpered. "I'll do anything. I'll do anything . . . " Liv choked on a sob, "anything. I'll do anything."

"Yeah. Yes, you will." Lewis's nostrils flared, satisfied with his power, by her fear.

A knock, clear as day, on the front door.

And that was when Liv screamed.

/ / /

The time stretched out limitlessly. She could hear him, speaking to a woman, but not well enough to make out what lies he might be telling her. Keeping an ear tuned to the muffled sound of his voice, Liv started pulling on the iron bar again. Maybe it was hopeless, but there was no way she was going to make it too easy for him.

The front door shut again, and Liv froze. Now the woman's voice was inside - being rushed into another room, she assumed – and also, a child's voice. A girl's.

As terrified as Olivia had been for her life over four days, her body still managed to produce an even deeper level as it registered the sound of the little girl's questions. This child was scared. Both of Liv's hands gripped the iron bar in rage and defiance. That monster would never touch a child as long as she was still breathing.

That was when the bar moved.

Not much, but enough to know that it was hers, if she wanted it. And God, how she wanted it. She froze again, motionless on the mattress, thinking fast. His footsteps were coming back in her direction.

"I hate to be rude, but we have to hurry. We have company. The maid showed up with her five-year-old daughter . . . " he chuckled, and it was obvious that this wrench in his plans was unnerving him. "Sweet little Luisa."

"What did you do?"

"Nothing yet. That little one . . . she's a cutie."

"Little girls, huh? Old ladies. What is it with you? Are you afraid of me?" Liv asked.

Lewis tittered anxiously. "Oh, no, sweetheart. I was just hoping we could take our time."

"We've been together for four days. There's a lot of _talk_ , but there's not a lot of action," she complained, eyeing his crotch to make her point.

"It's coming, baby."

"I wonder if . . . if you're not _man_ enough to get it up for a real woman. I just wondered about that," she whispered.

"Huh?"

"You see, I profiled you: a tyrannical sadist who preys on the weak. I think you're afraid of me. I do."

More and more ired, Lewis slammed the utility knife he'd been using to cut rope onto the dresser. "Do I look afraid to you?" he demanded, unflinching.

"I think you're afraid of me," she repeated.

"Let's get to the action," he said, tired of her challenges.

Liv's last thought before pulling the iron bar in a lunge was – _If this fails God, let him rape me and not the girl. Not the little girl._

The next she knew, she was off the bed, and Lewis was on the floor, bleeding from the mouth and nose. He made a lunge for the dresser, for the gun she was so fucking afraid of, and she hit him again, right at the elbow. As he dropped back to the floor in pain, Liv grabbed the gun and levelled it at his head.

God, it felt good. It felt familiar, powerful. Her heart was hammering with fresh adrenaline. The rough of the metal under her tender palm was a caress. She imagined this is how men felt when holding their cocks in their hand – thinking that it made or broke a situation. Or a person.

"Don't move," she warned.

"Why? What are you gonna do?" He moved toward her, testing her.

She trembled, then held her ground. "One move . . . lights out."

"Okay. All right. You want to be in control for a while, baby? I can play that," he half-grinned.

He was still playing his fucking game. But the game was over. Olivia cold-cocked Lewis, knocking him out in one blow.

She made sure that he was out solid, then dragged him to the foot of the bed. Fumbling in his pockets, she retrieved the key to her cuffs, and stumbled out into the beach house, across to the room where he had stashed Luisa and her mother.

"Please, here," Olivia called out. "Unlock these cuffs! I want to help you!"

The maid opened the door cautiously, peering at her in confusion. Once the cuffs were off, Liv turned heel and ran back to the other bedroom, cuffing Lewis to the foot frame. Then she turned back to the other two, crossing to them. "Did he hurt you or your little girl?"

" _Estamos bien,_ " the mother answered, shaking.

"Listen, I want you to take your daughter, and I want you to get out of here now." Liv pushed them toward the door.

"I call the police!"

"Listen to me. I am the police. He's a very bad man. Now, he's gonna go away for a long time. Let me ask you a question: are you legal? _¿Tiene usted una tarjeta verde?_ Okay. If the police find out that you are here, they will take away your daughter. _Escuchame_. _No digas nada. ¿Entiende?_ "

"Si."

Liv looked down at Luisa. " _¿Y tu, entiendes?_ "

"Si."

"Okay." She pushed them out, watching them go. " _Ya vete!_ " she shouted.

Chest heaving, she stood in the silent beach house a minute. Torn, between the repulsion that thinking of going back in the room caused, and her desire to hurt Lewis in any or all of the ways he'd hurt her. At last, she went slowly back to where he lay, unconscious and bleeding.

For the first time in four days, Olivia looked at her own face in the mirror. She lost her breath at the puzzle of blood, sweat, sticky alcohol and grime that stared back. Her dark hair was a nest where evidence and horror had dried, stuck, tangled together in manic bunches. Shock was settling in, pushing out fight or flight, trying to make her body rest.

"Hey. Hey, you." She turned back to Lewis, kicked a foot. "You're out cold, are you? I haven't called anybody yet. I think I want you to suffer first. Maybe I could burn you . . . or cut you." She chuckled, thoughts starting to pile up in her traumatized mind, like a cold-blooded traffic jam.

"Or I could use the blowtorch on you," she mused, testing its weight. She flicked it on. Off. "But you might enjoy that too much. See, _you_ \- you'd know what to do. Your whole life, you know what you want, and you just do it. What **_I_** want to do . . . " Olivia sighed, tipping her head. She aimed the gun again, her voice going cold: "I want to shoot you in the head right now, watch you bleed out. Or maybe that's too easy."

Elliot filled her head again, pulling the corners of her mouth down with grief and the endless longing for closure. "My old partner . . . " her voice quavered, " _he'd_ know what to do. He wouldn't question himself after what you've done." Sitting down, she half-smiled at the idea. "He would kick your teeth in, break your legs, break your arms, break your back, break your face."

Liv caught herself on a harsh sob. God, how she had wanted him to save her. How she wanted him still, there, then – the only person who had ever thought her truly perfect, whole, just as she was. Elliot would take on all the shame, the vengeance, so she wouldn't have to finish it herself. _Why can't I let you go, El_? she thought. _I wanted it to be you_.

"Maybe I should call him. Maybe I should get him to use that metal bar on you . . . huh?" She leaned towards Lewis on the floor. "And make you _beg_ for your _life_ ," she hissed with disgust.

Twisting, Lewis rolled over, growling at her. Liv yelped, leaping to her feet and pointing the gun.

"Then do it. Do something. Please, God, that speech . . . that's the saddest thing I ever heard in my life."

"Shut up."

"Your _partner_ would know what to do. _**I**_ would know what to do, and you just stand there _wondering_ what to do?"

"I will hurt you."

"Then take the cuffs off."

"Stop talking," she ordered.

"Or what? Are you gonna shoot me? You don't have it in you. You want to, but you can't, 'cause you're a _nice_ girl."

"You don't know who you're dealing with."

"That old partner of yours . . . well, he sounds very macho, doesn't he?"

"No." It was too close to begging, but he was doing it again – he was reading her, pushing buttons that no one else ever saw. Despite the gun, it scared her again.

"It must've been tough for you - all those long nights, alone in the car."

"You don't get to talk about him," Liv declared.

"Did he ever do you? He did, didn't he? You still want him." William chuckled at her, feigning sympathy. "I can hear it in your voice. You're all bottled up. Yeah. All your life, you've been listening to stories . . . women telling you about the worst night of their life."

"Shut up!"

"What about you, huh? What are you working through?"

"Shut up! I said shut up."

"Something your daddy did to you? Is that it?" Lewis guessed.

"Shut up!"

"I'm onto something, aren't I? Yeah, call me what you want, but I can always smell a victim!"

Liv hated him. She hated him with every cell in her body – and not just because of the four day torture and trauma binge, or even because he had made her cross every personal line she had ever drawn in the sand. _It won't be me. I'm not a victim – never the victim. I won't beg. I won't give in, show my fear. I'll die before I let myself be raped_. Lewis had taken her control, her dignity, and now he was coming for the parts so tender that she could hardly touch them herself.

He refused to quit baiting her, and when pointing the gun failed, she came back around to where he sat. She kicked him in the knees, trying to hurt him enough to make a point, but it just spurred him on.

"Yes! Can you smell that? That's it. There's the spunk. Point taken. I got it. Daddy's off-limits, right? Okay. Why don't I talk about mine, then?"

"How about you don't? I'm not interested."

"No, you are. You are."

"I don't want to hear it."

"My daddy . . . well . . . he used to leave me at my babysitter's. He used to put me in front of the TV to watch cartoons, and he'd take her in the back and do her on the water bed. One day, he got wasted. He passed out, right? She comes out of the room. She asks me if I want to play. She puts me in her mouth. God, it felt good. Then my daddy came out. He slaps her in the face. She's bleeding . . . from the nose, and the mouth. Then he grabs her, pulls her pants down, and does her on the floor, hard, while she's screaming, begging him to stop."

"While you watched. Are you kidding me? Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?" Liv scoffed.

Lewis laughed. "Sorry? Oh, no, honey. I think you missed the point. My daddy got up, pulled up his pants, brought me to the car, and took me to Dairy Queen for ice cream. One of the best days of my life . . . the moment I knew what I was put here for. I know what I want. What about you?"

"I do. I know exactly what I want. I want you dead," she said flatly. "I want a bullet in your head." She came towards him slowly, the gun aimed again, sweating with the effort and the headache from her concussion.

"That's it," he encouraged, coaxing her on.

"I want you in the ground."

"Come on," he closed his eyes, feeling the metal of the handgun, like destiny kissed upon his forehead.

"Nobody will miss you. Nobody will mourn you."

"Oh, just do it. Do it right now. Come on, while you're angry . . . just shoot me. Do it. It's gonna feel so good. Just shoot me. Just shoot me. Don't wait. Don't let this go to trial, baby. I've got a long history of winning streaks. I'm gonna get off, I promise."

Shaking, forcing herself not to kill him, she pulled the gun back once again. Immediately, he was disappointed.

"No, no, no, no, no, no. No. No, come back," he whined, like she had blue-balled him on the edge of a great orgasm.

Back to the dresser, she made herself lay down her gun. The shock, her head wound – whatever she was going to do, she was running out of time. Overexposed, Liv felt raw, felt raped. He hadn't touched her sexually, maybe he'd never even really planned to . . . but he had taken things that weren't his. William Lewis had laid bare the one way that they were the same, and all the ways that they were different. She may have gotten free, but he was the one who had won.

"I knew it," he spoke up to her, "You don't have the balls."

A glint of light reflected off of Elliot's mini badge on the bottom of the gun. El's voice - _You've got to wake up, now, Liv_. . . . She picked up the metal bar from the dresser, turning back to Lewis.

As she raised it, she saw his expression. At last, he was afraid. The metal rod came down hard, and he cried out in pain.

Again, and they were both screaming now. In her head, Elliot whispered words of encouragement – and she let him, because now she knew, it was the last time he would ever save her.

It was time to let go, and her heart was breaking.

Olivia raised the rod, again and again.


	5. V: Full Moon, Empty Space

**A/N: Gosh, I'm sorry it's been this long. December is always a long, crazy month for me. But I am still working on this story, and I hope that this will do for now. I'm predicting probably two more chapters to finish this. Hopefully y'all will stick with me. ? Reviews are the best! Enjoy!**

 **Rating: M for mature themes, strong language**

 **Spoilers: Surrender Benson, Internal Affairs, Dissonant Voices, Rapist Anonymous**

 **Trigger Warnings: References to the Lewis arc, mentions of gambling addiction.**

 **Disclaimer: Not mine. Maybe, someday . . .**

 **Equinox**

 _V_ **:** _Full_ _Moon_ **,** _Empty_ _Space_

It ended as it had begun: in an unintelligible blur of muffled sounds, jostling touches. The faces were familiar now, but Olivia paid no heed. The shock, the exhaustion had finally filled every space left in her, from toes to hairline, and Liv at last gave in, gratefully accepting the settling numbness.

William Lewis was alive.

She had hoped to God that he wasn't, despite what that may have ultimately meant for her career. She had prayed he would succumb to his injuries. But, as he himself had reminded her, his winning streak was uncanny.

First to grapple with the broken, stinking thing that had escaped from the beach house was the hospital. Nick, as much like Elliot as ever, was seething with silent rage and vibrating with concern. Cragen was teary-eyed and stoic, as one would expect. But no one, not even Brian, stayed with her in the exam room. For 15 years, Liv had held the hands of rape victims as they sat through what came after trauma.

A fragile, dubious purgatory where survivors were told truths that began as lies. _It gets better . . . you're going to get past this . . . you're strong enough, braver than you imagine_. Liv was relieved not to have to hear any of it. Through pictures, swabs, a cursory physical exam for broken bones, then stitches, pain medication, a saline IV. Finally, the rape kit, which she let them do without protesting, though she knew it would show nothing.

Her squad went home, after receiving confirmation that she was breathing, and not stark-raving mad –at a glance, at least.

When Liv finally lost the battle to stay awake, sleep swept her off gently. It was a sleep without dreams, of either Lewis, or of Elliot. There was only silence, and the peace of not knowing. It would be the last sleep of that tenor for a very long time.

When she awoke, Brian was there.

/ / /

Silence. There was so much of it, between her and Brian, once the motions of protocol had passed. _Maybe your place is a better idea_ , she had told him – but was she right?

Liv was terrified at the thought of Brian asking her what had happened. How could she? How could she ever admit that she hadn't longed for him, to either see or rescue her? He didn't deserve to be hurt like that.

And now, she didn't want to be alone; falling back into familiar habits was a comfort that she badly needed. So, on the drive from the precinct to Brian's apartment, Olivia decided that the story could never be Brian's – not the way he would want, anyway. She swore to herself she would never tell him.

His apartment seemed cold and unwelcoming, but perhaps that was just how everywhere felt now. Finally, she got the hot bath that she had been wanting – though, she had to wash with only one hand, since her wrist was now broken. All around her, silence pressed in like a weighted blanket, serving to remind her of how much Lewis had talked.

She sat in the hot bath until it turned cold, then ran hot water again. Finally she rose from the water, dripping, like a wounded ship limping ashore. Methodically, she dried her body, trying to envision it as a reclaiming. Olivia dressed with care, avoiding the mirror, relishing the ache and burn of each muscle. For the first time since the beach house, she looked into a mirror.

Fighting the bile that rose in her throat, she stepped closer, bumping against Brian's sink. Who would she be, now? Who was this fractured, violent warrior who had emerged from the grips of their worst nightmare? There was nothing gentle, nothing familiar in herself.

Liv had placed the scissors on the sink before the bath, knowing what would be needed. Now she picked them up again, pleased and sickened by the feeling of safety the cool steel provided. Her reflection contorted with a grimace, fighting the tears that wanted to flow as she cut off her hair – at least four inches of it, dropping it into the sink as she went.

Brian had clean sheets and warm blankets waiting for her when she emerged from the bathroom. Liv thanked him softly, but her eyes betrayed the disconnection between them. She laid down, but as soon as Brian sat next to her, she stiffened.

He swore. He apologized. Liv didn't want the responsibility of either. After several more attempts, without the passing of a single word, Brian gave up and left her, shutting the bedroom door behind him.

The night and the room bore down on her. Four days of the sound of her own breathing made it impossible to surrender, even to her own exhaustion.

When she was sure Brian was asleep on the couch, Olivia picked up her cell.

/ / /

The soft ding of a text message caused Amanda's head to turn. It didn't get the chance to wake her, as she couldn't sleep. She had been laying awake since arriving home from work, torturing herself with thoughts of what Olivia had suffered; crushed under the weight of her own guilt. The two women had hardly passed words after Liv was rescued, leaving Amanda with plenty of time to agonize over all the things she couldn't know.

 _ **ARE YOU AWAKE?**_

She read it several times before responding in the affirmative, waiting breathlessly, the glow of the phone's screen coloring the shadows of the bedroom. When she couldn't take it anymore, she typed, _**EVERYTHING OK?**_ and forced herself to hit send.

 _Ding_. _**CAN I SEE YOU?**_

Amanda's heartbeat stuttered, battering against her ribs as her thumbs hovered above her touch keyboard. _**OF COURSE. SHOULD I PICK YOU UP?**_ She rolled out of bed, turning on the light and reaching for her discarded clothes.

The phone went off again as she was hopping, one-legged, into rumpled pants. Rollins reached for the phone, nearly losing her balance in her rush to multitask.

 _ **NO NEED. YOUR PLACE ALRIGHT? DON'T WANT TO BE IN THE WAY. YOU CAN SAY NO.**_

She frowned, but didn't hesitate, sending back _**ANYTHING YOU NEED. FOR AS LONG AS YOU NEED.**_

After one last long pause, all she got back was _**BE THERE SOON.**_

Rollins fussed with everything in sight as she waited for a knock or a next message. What was this? Liv's strange form of punishment? Would she come storming in to blame her for the four days captive with that living monster?

Amanda chewed at her fingertips, taking furtive glances at the door. She considered brewing coffee, or fast-chilling beer in the freezer, but every thought was simply a distraction from her anxiety.

 _ **ON MY WAY UP.**_

Amanda unlocked her door, listening for the elevator or footsteps in the hallway. She opened up the door before Liv had a chance to knock, but said nothing. Liv stepped inside, and Amanda followed, hands trembling as she pushed the door shut.

Any words that came to her, Amanda discarded, knowing they were useless. This left Olivia to speak first.

"Thanks." Her voice came out hoarse with the need to sleep. "For letting me come over."

"Hey – whatever I can do."

Liv turned, fixing her eyes on the nervous blonde. "I couldn't, uh . . . " she shrugged, "I tried to sleep, but Brian . . . I, I just couldn't be _touched_." Her eyes rolled in their sockets from the exhaustion.

Amanda ached with her concern and what seemed like a bottomless sadness. "You can sleep," she swallowed, "in my bed, if you want. I don't mind being out here on the couch."

Liv shifted from foot to foot, glancing at the open door to Amanda's room, a room that she had never seen. "Ok," she finally whispered.

Amanda went ahead of Olivia into the room, straightening out the blankets and the pillows. She turned on a bedside table lamp, then looked at Liv again. "Do you want some pyjamas? Or I can open the window a crack?"

Liv shook her head, pushing off her shoes. She crawled onto the bed. It was luxuriously soft. More importantly, it didn't smell like a man's cologne. Muscles began to relax. Her chest loosened.

Amanda hesitated at the edge of the bed, resisting the urge to tuck Liv in. Clearing her throat, she asked, "Do you have enough blankets?"

"Mm."

"I'll leave the light on for ya," Amanda smiled. As she turned, she felt Liv's hand touch her arm.

"I don't want to be alone."

By the time Amanda got comfortably seated alongside her, Liv was already soundly asleep.

Amanda was dozing, seated on the bed with her head back against the wall, when she was launched into wakefulness by Olivia struggling in her sleep. Had they slept mere moments? Were they out several hours? There was no way to tell.

Carefully, she reached for the dreaming brunette, touching her shoulder. "Liv."

Waking, Liv's hands shot out defensively, slapping and grabbing in front of her. Rollins let herself be smacked, calmly letting her wrists be encircled and yanked. "Hey," she said softly, looking into Liv's brown eyes until they softened, focusing. "You're safe."

Liv's shuddered breathing hastily slowed. "I'm sorry," she panted, "sorry."

"Don't apologize," Amanda shook her head. She slipped her hands from Liv's grip. "Watch your wrist."

Liv settled back down into the twist of soft blankets she had bundled in, looking at her hands blankly.

"You hungry? Or need a drink, maybe?"

Olivia didn't answer, so Amanda didn't pursue it. She wondered about the private hell Liv was fighting; she knew too well how completely Liv abhorred the very possibility of being a victim. Benson had a long-time reputation at the 1-6 for being fearless – not to mention nearly invincible.

What Olivia wanted and needed now was normalcy, something that would be in short supply until peoples' morbid curiosity began to wan. Amanda glanced back down at Liv, who had curled into a vaguely defensive position and drifted off again. She vowed to provide what would help Liv feel better, as a pathetic attempt at making amends for dragging Lewis into their lives.

She put her head back against the bedroom wall, and listened to the faint buzz of the light from the bedside lamp. _It's all I've got_ , Amanda thought, _so you can have it._

/ / /

The next time Olivia awoke, she was alone. She startled at first, disoriented, until she recognized the scent of Amanda, all over the blankets she was tangled in. Broad daylight was flooding the room, though the lamp on the bedside table remained on, like a lighthouse to shore.

Liv could smell breakfast, and her stomach lurched, driving her to a sitting position with an unarguable reminder that she would need to eat, whether she liked the idea or not.

She took her time, doing physical self-inventory, stretching and moving, wincing, but wallowing in the feeling of being safe. Being quiet. When she stood up, she fished her cell from the back pocket of her jeans and found a string of missed text messages, then calls, from Brian.

Swearing under her breath, she typed a straightforward, _**I'M FINE. I'M WITH ROLLINS**_ , and then locked the screen again.

"Something smells incredible," Liv said with a raise of her voice as she came into the rest of the apartment.

"You're up!" Amanda smiled. "Come grab a chair; everything is just about ready."

It was nothing too showy – they were, after all, cops at heart – but it was still better than any of the squad normally ate on the run. Scrambled eggs, bacon perfectly browned, with thick slices of toast and all the jam they could slather. Hot coffee and grapefruit juice, fresh fruit. Liv was suddenly ravenous.

"I'm sorry if I kept you from sleeping much," Liv apologized as she poured up a coffee.

Amanda waved her off. "I slept plenty. Pass me your plate."

Liv glanced at the blonde from the corner of her eye, caught off guard by her dismissal. Amanda piled bacon and eggs onto the plate, then pointed to a drawer. "Forks're in there."

Olivia smiled in spite of herself, dropping into a chair at the small table with her breakfast.

"You're not working today?" Liv asked as Amanda joined her.

"Nope."

"Thanks for breakfast – everything is delicious." When Amanda nodded, but didn't speak, Liv cleared her throat and confessed, "it's the first real meal I've had in almost five days."

Rollins fought not to react too quickly, swallowing another mouthful of eggs. "Sorry it's not something better, then. From your favorite restaurant, maybe."

Olivia relaxed further, allowing herself to settle into the realization that she didn't need to guard herself. "This is perfect," she insisted.

They finished the meal without talking further, Liv's mouth curved into a faint smile.

/ / /

Summer was fading into Fall again. Olivia was back to work. Her sessions with Dr. Lindstrom were going better than she could have imagined.

And Olivia found herself and Brian moving in together.

Leaving her old place had been a relief, but one tinged with deep pain around its edges. What she had told Lindstrom was true: she had never really thrived there, not in the ways she had wanted to. But part of the memories she clung to, her memories of time with Elliot, they were still a part of that place. Marred now, by Lewis. By evil.

Even so, her words had been a half-truth. She knew her reasons for moving in with Brian were not wholly healthy. Liv was still webbing herself securely into routine, holding onto as much familiarity as possible. The thought of being alone still terrified her, and that included the thought of starting over without someone.

Liv jumped at noises in the apartment, still slept with the light on three of seven nights a week, and consistently had nightmares. Having someone to come home to – someone she knew wouldn't hesitate to kill if something happened – was what she still needed. So, as the leaves changed colors once again, Liv brushed every red flag aside, and went to bed at night in Brian's arms.

It was that half-truth she'd told, along with the ink-dark of the night, that bore down on her as Liv listened to Brian over the wire, getting a blowjob from a sex-worker. Amaro shifted uncomfortably next to her in the driver's seat.

"He's just working," Nick offered.

"I know," she said quietly. She hoped that it had come off more casual than it had felt leaving her mouth.

/ / /

Olivia leaned heavily against the marble pillar next to her as Jackie Walker's footsteps echoed down the hall. "I keep going over it in my head. Those kids did _not_ sound coached."

"We had the DNA," Nick added. "We were just doing our job."

Barba sighed. " People lie, people make mistakes, people get hurt. This comes with the territory."

Amanda snapped, quivering. "No, you guys can keep telling yourselves whatever you want." She pushed between the three of them, moving in the direction of the elevators. "This didn't have to happen."

After a guilty pause, Olivia went after her, opting for the stairs in the hopes of cutting her off. The New York fall air smelled cleaner, somehow, and it filled Liv's lungs as she hurried down the courthouse steps. "Amanda!" she called, "Wait!"

She was almost sure that she wasn't going to stop: that Rollins was going to make her chase her down city blocks, when finally Amanda did pull to a halt. "Amanda," Liv huffed, "listen. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry; you were right, all along."

"Sorry doesn't put Jackie's life back together, Liv! I tried to tell you - that's not the world we live in!"

"I'm agreeing with you, ok? I fucked up." Olivia closed her eyes, hands fisting her hips. "I don't know what else to say."

"It's too late," Amanda returned, "words aren't gonna fix anything now. I just thought . . . after all this time, you know, that I had earned the benefit of the doubt."

Liv watched her walk away – the one-six's Southern spitfire – letting her guilt crowd back in, marring the gorgeous Fall day.

Amanda walked until her anger burned down, then took a seat on the nearest bench. Her eyes welled, stinging with tears she couldn't show the squad. Jackie Walker's case had hit a little too close to home, in ways that she wasn't ready to talk about. It was a terrible reminder that being anything other than heterosexual in high-profile lives was still a recipe for disaster, even in the 21st century. Sexuality had always been a struggle for Amanda, especially before leaving Atlanta. Being reminded here, in the big city, of all-too-familiar biases was more than Rollins could take.

What she had assumed was a predictable, hero-worship crush on Olivia Benson had turned into another beast entirely over two years. Since William Lewis, it had only gotten even more complicated, wrapped up in Amanda's guilt, and her inescapable need to protect Liv from . . . well, everything. It was building up in her, and she didn't know how it would ultimately end.

Badly, probably.

That was the most likely answer, in Amanda's experience.

/ / /

Rollins had taken a hard pass on Liv's little housewarming dinner. The holidays were rapidly approaching again, and she found it increasingly difficult to be around Liv and Brian's lukewarm relationship. So she let the rest of the squad toast promotions, and found herself, instead, at AA.

Sex with her sponsor, Nate, had been a fun distraction for a while, but the shine had worn off. Now, she mostly kept his company to remind herself not to gamble. But he was kind of cute, in a scruffy way, and Amanda found herself drawn back, every time it came to an end.

"Hey, let me ask. As your sponsor, did you gamble today?" Nate asked her, his breath clouding in the November night air.

"Mm-mm."

"Me neither. And I didn't drink," he said proudly. After a protracted pause, he leaned in and kissed her.

"I thought we decided after the last time that this was a bad idea," Amanda pointed out.

"We did."

Nate grinned, and Amanda thought, _Just until I make it through the holidays._

/ / /

She didn't know the last time her rage had been this white-hot. Any moment, Amanda was going to slug Amaro, and then probably lose her job.

"You went undercover to an A.A. meeting . . ."

"You don't know this guy," Nick interrupted.

" . . . Spying on my life!" Rollins finished on a shout.

"Calm down!"

"Calm down? Really? Does that work with Maria?"

"Rollins, look. I went out with some of the other guys from the group, alright. They said Nate preys on women new to the program. They call him a "13th-stepper"."

"Yeah, I know what a 13th-stepper is," she rolled her eyes, "It's not him."

"So it's one of the other 12 steps, to sleep with your sponsee?" Amaro shot back.

"You know what your problem is?"

"What's that?"

"Maria left, you're alone, and you can't stand to see anybody else happy." She spun on her heel, stalking to the door.

"You know, you don't seem happy to me," he called, raising his voice.

Amanda chuckled derisively. "I don't wanna take your inventory . . . but you're jealous, Nick. You are jealous of Olivia and Brian, Olivia and Barba - even Cragen. I mean, you are _so_ addicted to your own misery. I'd recommend help, but they don't have a 12-step program for self-pity!"

Fin came through the locker room door. "Both you guys need to stop," he said sternly, "The whole squad room can hear you."

"You're not my father," Amanda snapped at Nick. She turned her head to Fin. "Neither are you."

/ / /

"Brian's making dinner," Liv said brightly, "Clam sauce. So I'll see you guys tomorrow if . . . I survive."

Rollins rolled her eyes inconspicuously, then piped up, "Not me; I'm pulling a double tonight so I can be there when Nate testifies."

"Good luck," Liv replied.

"You don't want to do that," Nick warned.

"Did I forget to ask your permission?" she snapped back.

Olivia crossed to Rollins' desk. "Amanda, I think he's just trying to look out for you," she said gently.

"He's got a funny way of showin' it."

"Amanda, I've been where you are, okay? Certain victims, they push buttons. Okay, you get caught up, you lose perspective."

"This isn't about my sister," she said flatly.

"You went through a lot with her. Have you talked to anyone about it?"

"Yeah, actually. In meetings."

"I meant a therapist."

"Oh, I don't have to _pay_ for someone to listen to my problems," Amanda said, rising to her feet and walking away.

"Wow," Olivia whispered.

/ / /

The courtroom was fuller than she had expected, and Rollins was tired from the double she worked. Outside, a freezing November rain had sucked the nicety out of the Big Apple Autumn that had been rather pleasurable thus far.

"What did sponsoring Lena entail?" Barba asked.

"I shared my experience, strength, and hope with her."

"Share anything else with her?"

"Excuse me?" Nate stumbled.

"Were you ever sexually involved with her?"

"Objection. Relevance."

"I'll allow it," the Judge ruled. "Answer, Mr. Davis."

"Yes, I was."

Stunned, Amanda bore holes into Lena's back, who turned and eyed Amanda guiltily.

"Until how recently?" Barba continued.

"I'm not sure."

"Your best guess, Mr. Davis."

"A week ago?"

Amanda's stomach knotted as her muscles tightened with dread.

"Okay. Are you currently sponsoring Detective Rollins?"

"Yes."

"And also sexually involved with her?"

"Yes."

"Did she know about you and Lena?"

"No. Listen, I'm not proud of my behavior . . ."

"But Lena was aware of your relationship with Detective Rollins?" Barba went on.

"Yes."

"And she was aware that Detective Rollins is an SVU detective."

"I may have shared that."

"Did you also share that Rollins' sister was a domestic violence victim?"

"I wanted Lena to know that she wasn't alone," Nate protested.

Amanda's eyes filled with hot, disgusted tears. Christ, what a goddamn fool she had been. Her whole squad had known it, while she was in the dark.

"So while you were "13th-stepping" Detective Rollins, you confided in Lena that you were seeing an SVU detective who might be sympathetic to her?"

"Yes."

"And shortly thereafter, did Lena ask you to invite Detective Rollins to an A.A. meeting she was speaking at?"

"She did," Nate said weakly.

"Later that night, did Lena disclose to Detective Rollins that she had been raped?"

"Objection. Hearsay."

"Actually, Mr. Davis, you were in Detective Rollins' apartment at the time, isn't that right?"

"Yes."

"I'll allow it."

"After the D.A. decided not to charge Gene with rape, did Lena ask you if Detective Rollins was still sympathetic to her?" Barba continued.

"Yes. I said she was."

"I see. So either you were conspiring with Lena to establish a pattern of abusive behavior that would justify Gene's murder, or Lena was playing you."

"I - I wasn't conspiring."

"So you were being played. And she used you to play Detective Rollins."

"I didn't know that's what she was intending to do. I swear. Listen, I try not to dwell on would'ves, could'ves, should'ves . . ." Nate testified in a panic.

"Good for you. Nothing further."

Unsure if she was going to be sick, or crawl out of her skin, Rollins got weakly to her feet, brushing at the tears that were betraying her. She rushed into the hallway, lightheaded and still shocked, moving to the elevator. All she wanted was to run.

Nate caught up to her, sighing. "Hey, I - I know you're upset."

"Yeah, you always were a smart guy," she quipped.

"Can we sit down and talk about this?"

"No."

"Okay. All right, you're done with me, I get that."

"Good."

"But I did believe in us," he went on, "and I still believe in you, Amanda. Look, it's progress not perfection. Just tell me you're not going to give up on the program."

She held her silence, her fists trembling at her sides, until he at last walked away.

"I'm sorry," Barba's voice followed. "I had to do it."

"I'm not angry at you," Amanda replied. And she wasn't. Aggressively, she pounded the elevator call button again. Barba shifted off, awkward and contrite, deciding it was best not to say more.

/ / /

"Nine."

"Hit me."

Gambling was a well-worn guise, a masquerade that Rollins slipped into when things spun off course. In a casino, or a gambling den, she was inversely herself: no protector, no dutiful child, and certainly not the accomplished detective she was in the light of day.

No, when she was gambling, Amanda was an eyeliner streaked, cigarette-smoking, screwdriver-soaked Bad Girl. Her badge and gun were far from where she was. A creaking leather jacket and a potty mouth were in their place, her only protection.

"Thirteen."

"Hit me."

She was already well on her way to drunk – which was fine by her, because the week had left her with plenty of things to regret. The look on Olivia's face when Amanda'd gone off on her headed that list, closely followed by her willingness to jump into bed with any guy she thought cared about her for a five-minute stretch.

Amanda liked forgetting. The risk of gambling took up the space that was usually filled with thoughts of failures, and self-criticism. She was a shitty daughter, with her mother's taste in men, and she had one foot in the closet with a hard-on the size of Yankee Stadium for a woman even more damaged than herself.

But that didn't matter here. She could bet or fold, drink, or not. She could take someone home and never worry about seeing them again.

Or she could go home alone, like always.

"Sixteen."

Amanda took a long drag and looked at the dealer from under her lashes, her eyes filled with sex and anger.

"Hit me."


	6. VI: Under the Skin

**A/N: Hello, dears. Apologies that this took a while. I suffered a slight block, and had to wait for it to work itself out. Here is chapter six. Enjoy, and keep an eye out for the next chapter! If you read, please review.**

 **Rating: M for sexual content**

 **Spoilers: Psycho/Therapist, Amaro's One-Eighty, Wednesday's Child, Comic Perversion, Gambler's Fallacy**

 **Trigger Warnings: Angry sex, references to rape, assault, gambling and threatening behavior.**

 **Disclaimer: They're not my characters, but I did finish this chapter on Mariska's birthday, which is pretty cool.**

 **Equinox**

 _VI: Under the Skin_

Olivia hated the way the night always settled so heavily over the apartment. The silence of it crawled right in under her skin, reminding her that she was still damaged - that she always would be, thanks to William Lewis. She had grown up in the city, had learned from a young age- with no small help from her mother – about the dangers both visible and hidden. For more than twelve years, Liv had come home alone to her apartment in the city, locked her deadbolt, and slept. Maybe not in her bed, but she slept.

She was still coming home alone.

Despite moving to IAB and getting his shield back, Brian still found himself working late more often than not, which left the apartment empty at the end of the day. She was starting to understand, with greater acuity, how the spouses of cops felt when all the years started piling up and seeping the intimacy slowly out of relationships.

A sound from the front hall turned Liv's blood to ice in her veins. Not breathing, she palmed her gun and moved toward the front door. The figure moved into the doorway, and Olivia's hands trembled as she straightened her aim.

Cassidy flinched with a shout, his hands going up. "Liv! It's me." He stilled, not wanting to push her further, then stepped slowly forward. "Let me have that," he said softly, taking her gun in both his hands.

"I'm sorry, Brian," Liv gasped as her lungs filled with air again.

"It's okay." He smiled, reassuringly. "Hey. It's okay. Yeah." He folded her into his arms, smoothing her hair. "Come here, come here."

"I'm sorry," she whispered, wishing like hell that Lewis had never stolen the version of herself that had been fearless.

"It's okay, come here. It's all right. It's okay," Brian kept murmuring to her.

But it wasn't. It was not okay.

/ / /

Olivia felt her breath forcefully rush out of her lungs. She looked at Barba, dumbfounded. "What? He wants to plead to rape?"

"Multiple counts of rape in the first. Multiple counts of sodomy. And he wants to plead guilty with an allocation of each specific," Barba explained.

Liv paced, breathing in erratic, winded pants. "He wants to stand up in open court and give graphic details of what he did _not_ do to me?!"

"He will get 25 years to life. He will die in prison, Olivia. You will avoid a trial and having to testify . . . "

"No, no. No, he does not get to do that to me. He did _not_ rape me. He did _not_ sodomize me. You look at that rape kit. After four days, he did not have the _balls_ to rape me. And now he wants to stand up in open court? Now? No. No!"

Rafael sighed, frustrated. He would kill Lewis with his bare hands, if he thought it would stop this whole, ugly, endless nightmare. "I have to tell you, given the extent of his injuries, they will go after you for excessive force. He may claim that he was handcuffed when you crushed his skull. You testified to a police investigator and a grand jury that Lewis lunged at you, that you used the bar to defend yourself until he was no longer a danger to you."

Barba looked at her, motionless, at the window. It mattered not an iota to Rafael that Liv had beat Lewis nearly to death – but he refused to see her punished for it. Forcing herself not to betray the anger that was knotting all her muscles, she kept her face neutral. _Goddamn that bastard_ , she thought. _Lewis couldn't make me a victim in that room, so he wants to bargain me into being one._

"That is what I said," Liv confirmed.

Barba crossed to her and dropped her file onto the window sill forcefully. "Your grand jury testimony from last May. You study those transcripts. If you deviate from your statement in any way, it will create reasonable doubt about all of your testimony. He will use it as a wedge. He could walk again, Liv."

Throwing up on Rafa's expensive Spanish rug was a real possibility, as the nausea reached a crescendo. Olivia looked down at the thick, manila file and wished that she had killed William Lewis when she had the chance.

/ / /

The tension in the courtroom was electric. Olivia was nearly past the point of caring about the verdict, having spent the last week in a perpetual state of panic. She sat next to Cassidy, who had a vise-grip on her bicep. Was he holding her up? Holding himself still from vaulting across the court room? One guess was as good as another.

"On the charge of attempted murder, we find the defendant, William Lewis, not guilty."

Liv heard the courtroom thrum with murmurs as her vision blurred.

"On the charge of attempted rape, we find the defendant not guilty."

 _He did it,_ she thought, _he's going to walk_. Liv closed her eyes, shifting in her seat. "I gotta go," she whispered to Brian, but he held fast to her arm, reassuring her.

"On the charge of assault on a police officer, we find the defendant guilty. On the charge of kidnapping, we find the defendant guilty."

"Members of the jury, the state of New York thanks you for your service. You are dismissed. William Lewis, you are remanded to Rikers where you will await sentencing."

"You did it, counselor," Fin said, pleased.

"Liv did it," Nick countered proudly.

"Congratulations," Amanda nodded.

"I can't believe it's over," Liv said weakly, as Lewis was handcuffed.

"It's over," Cragen confirmed.

'I'm gonna request the maximum: 25 to life," Barba told them.

"Let's get you home," Cassidy said gently, but she didn't move. ""Liv, you coming?"

"Yes. Could you just give me a minute?"

"Okay."

Olivia watched as William Lewis, the monster who had taken from her what she thought nobody could, was led out of the courtroom in shackles. He tossed one last, skin-crawling smile over his shoulder at her, and then he was gone.

In the hallway, she watched, waiting for a moment when the squad wasn't paying attention, then she snuck soundlessly across the corridor to one of the stairwell exits. The heavy door slammed shut behind her as she lowered herself onto a step just above the first landing.

Panic, exhaustion, shame – the entire gamut went to war in her. She felt an anxiety attack, ebbing and flowing in waves, causing her to hyperventilate. Covering her face with her hands, she waited – to feel relieved, or absolved. She waited to feel less robbed of time, or normalcy.

But Liv knew she was kidding herself.

The sobs came from deep in her belly, from the place that she hid even from Brian. They shook her, made her ribs ache, ripped her throat raw and made her oblivious to the sound of the door above her opening, closing again more quietly.

It was Amanda, who appeared next to her on the step. Wordlessly, Amanda touched her hand to Liv's shoulder. She was surprised when Liv responded by turning toward her, and crumpling into her arms. Rollins put her arms around the bundle of taut muscles and anguish that, in the light of day, was the strongest detective that Special Victims had known.

She didn't say it was okay; she knew it wasn't. Nor did she tell Liv it was over, because Amanda knew that in her head, it probably never would be. Searching for a truth she could actually speak, Amanda finally turned her mouth against the curtain of Liv's hair and whispered:

"I'm here."

/ / /

When Amanda stepped into the dimly lit sports bar, her eyes landed on Nick without having to search. A soccer game gurgled from a TV over the bar, complimented by the soft clink of beer bottles. The place was busy, but not overfull, and Amanda knew even as she crossed the threshold, that she was making a mistake.

Nick sat stiffly on a bar stool, his shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows, and his tie pulled loose. His hand clutched a bottle of dark beer with the label torn half-off – the other half curled in scattered pieces , forgotten, in front of him. Amanda approached the bar on his right, sliding onto the stool next to his.

"Big day," she commented. The bartender crossed to them. "I'll have a bottle of Sam Adams," she ordered.

"You could say that," Nick agreed, tipping his bottle to his lips.

"Crazy news about Cragen."

Nick's gaze was still fixed on the bar. "Yeah," he chuffed, "lots of changes comin', I guess."

Cragen's retirement announcement had taken the entire precinct by surprise. Most of his command had labored for years under the belief that Don Cragen would someday just pass away, peacefully, behind his desk - at which point, the squad would likely memorialize his office for posterity. Instead, it seemed, their captain was off to sail the world.

"Zara doin' okay?"

"Better," he nodded, "she's gonna stay in D. C. until things blow over some more here." Noticing that his beer was empty, Nick nudged it into the group of empty bottles he had been collecting and motioned to the bartender for another.

"What about you? You hangin' in there?"

Nick finally levelled his eyes at Amanda, his look colored with lingering anger over the way they had been butting heads. He knew Amanda wasn't stupid, that she knew his behavior wasn't about the job, or even her reputation. It was about his own macho drive to keep women safe from perceived danger. It was about how out of control he had always been when Maria was on tour, and how badly he had fucked up when Maria came home.

It was about atonement.

"I'm good. That apology of yours really lifted a weight," he chuckled.

Amanda narrowed her gaze and sucked on her drink, willing herself not to jump at his obvious baiting. Judging by the number of empties, she guessed he was beyond just feeling good. Despite his butting-in between her and Nate, Amaro had just put a 14 year old in a wheelchair, and even Amanda's temper had limits.

She opted to say nothing, and for a while, they drank in silence.

When he spoke again, his voice had changed, emptied of all its sarcasm. "Did I . . . did I seem impaired, to you, Rollins?"

She finished her beer and set down the bottle. "No, Nick. Not at all," she answered.

"How could everything have gone so wrong?" he said quietly.

Amanda left the question hanging and let her feet reach to the floor, sliding off her stool. She told Nick she'd be right back, and went down the long corridor past the bathrooms, out a back entrance where she lit up a cigarette. The cold night air was a welcome relief from the heated tension at the bar, so she took long drags and exhaled toward the stars as they gathered overhead, forming constellations and mysterious maps to other planets.

They had all convinced themselves that once Lewis had been put away, that things would go back to normal. But they really never could go home again, it seemed. Amaro had nearly lost his job, Cragen was retiring, and Munch had been gone now for months. She had fallen off the wagon, and was already in too deep with her gambling. Now Liv had been promoted, of all things. Not that she hadn't earned it, certainly. It meant, however, that Amanda now harbored unrequited feelings for her boss, instead of a co-worker. Any fantasies of eventually getting Olivia to see through her dying relationship with Cassidy were now, officially, a lost cause.

It left her directionless, and in her spinning, the only thing that seemed familiar was playing the role that Nick was setting her up to play: part savior, part troubled, guileless female. Amanda knew it all too well, seemingly born to play it whenever called upon.

"I never knew you smoked," Nick said. He stepped down to the pavement from the bar's back door, eyeing Amanda as she pitched the butt of her cigarette and stepped on it.

"Yeah, well," she grinned, "we've all got our secrets."

"It's terrible for you."

"Yeah." Rollins chuckled. "But so are a lot of things, lately, huh? According to you, Nick."

"Listen, I was just trying to - "

"Look out for me?" Amanda supplied. "Oh I know. You, and all the other well-meaning guys I've known."

"Sure seems like the rest of 'em did a piss-poor job, then."

She sighed. "Screw you, Nick. I got a beer waitin'." She pushed past him, reaching for the handle of the door, but Amaro crowded into her space, purposely testing her patience.

"Let it wait," he grated out.

Rollins sniffed with annoyance, placing her hands against his pecs and shoving. He let her, then stepped right back up to her. "Fuck off, Nick," she said, more forcefully.

"I don't think that's what you want," he replied. He snaked an arm around her waist and lifted her, pulling her into his body. Nick kissed her, turning her to the wall, where he crushed Amanda beneath his weight, beside the door.

It was a poem of ire and collapse – all of their anger, their mistakes with wives and lovers, their impotent longing for Olivia Benson, becoming a flashfire of punishment. Foreplay was disdained, save for Nick's mouth, pressing into Amanda's forcefully. He opened her pants hastily, yanking them down with her panties as far as mid-thigh. His hand slid between her legs, spreading her open and pushing fingers roughly against her clit. In response, she bit his shoulder hard enough to bruise. She succeeded in getting his pants open, pulling his cock free with a grunt of satisfaction.

Nick spun her, face to the wall, and leaned into her. Hand around his cock, he guided himself to her wet slit and pushed all the way inside, then let her nestle her hips into his pelvis. She bent over slightly, and he set a up a rhythm that quickly turned into a pounding. Amanda bit into the hand that clamped down over her mouth, to keep from drawing the attention of the bar patrons.

It was fast, hard, angry – just what they needed. When it was over, and Nick had come in long, thick spurts onto her ass cheeks, she turned around into his arms. "Now take me home," she panted, "and do it again."

/ / /

The girls were definitely in there. Liv slipped the key into the knob and opened the door. "Stella, Madison?" she said, to the brunette and blonde on the carpet together.

"What do you want?" the older one asked timidly.

"It's okay, honey, we're the police," Amanda told them.

"See?" Liv touched the word on her flak jacket.

"You're looking for Nicky."

"We are. Is he here?"

"Nuhuh. Mommy went to get his medicine. When she didn't come back, Uncle Roger took him out for a treat."

"And they left you here? All alone with no one to take care of you?" Neither of the girls answered, but their eyes darted nervously to the shut door beyond.

"Is there somebody else in that other room?" Rollins asked them.

"No, don't . . . no, please," the brunette pleaded.

"Okay, okay, okay," Amanda soothed.

A third girl appeared between the door and the unexplored room, her eyes full of fear. "No, you can't go in the room!"

Liv approached. "What - what's your name, honey?"

"Caitlin. You have to be quiet. He's sleeping."

"Come here. Who? Who's sleeping?" Amanda pressed.

"Please don't go in there," Caitlin cried.

"It's okay, sweetie. It's okay." Olivia followed behind Rollins, advancing around the bed. They stopped short when, instead of finding Nicky, they found an infant, babbling to itself in a makeshift cot.

She had seen innumerable babies in her 16 years in SVU, but few which had set up an ache in her the way that this one did. The baby wasn't even a year old, with dark hair and dark eyes. He was alert, and seemed unharmed. Olivia reached down and picked him up tenderly. "Hi. Hello, there. Hi, sweetie. Hi," she whispered.

Her unfamiliar voice only succeeded in making the baby fuss, and she tried to settle him. "It's okay. Shh, shh, shh. It's okay. There. Hi. Hi. Hi," she cooed. Unsure what else to say, she patted the child's back and watched its face. She was reminded of herself – in fact, in another life, the baby could easily pass as her own.

It had been nearly five years since Liv had given more than a passing thought to the idea of motherhood. A dream that she had really only shared with Elliot, her experience with adoption agencies had forced her to write it off as something that would never happen. Elliot had tried to convince her to keep pursuing it, but once he left the force, there was nobody else who knew how badly she wanted it, and the dream was shelved.

The dark-eyed child whimpered, and Liv stroked a hand over the soft hair that covered its head. Her dream was alive, settled into her bones, refusing to stay brushed aside. "Hi," she whispered again.

Olivia eyed Alexa Pierson coldly. "There were three girls in your hotel room. Where did they come from?"

"Where they all come from. Parents who don't want them anymore," Alexa sneered.

"Including this baby?" Olivia tossed a photo of the little boy that she had found. "His parents just handed over their infant to a stranger in a wheelchair?"

"Roger told me he found him in a train station bathroom, and I learned a long time ago not to ask too many questions." Alexa picked up the photo and touched it tenderly, gazing at the child. "He wasn't gonna be like the other ones. CJ was my baby."

 _Wednesday's child is full of woe_ , Olivia thought. "Not anymore, he's not," Liv said, plucking the photo from Alexa's hands.

/ / /

"Renee's video of Josh can never see the light of day. This all remains confidential," Barba said lowly.

"So he is above the law," Amaro griped.

"He pled guilty. He's on the sex offender's list," Liv pointed out.

"And he walks right back out on stage," Nick said sourly.

Barba shrugged. "I don't know - Fatty Arbuckle was found innocent. Barely ever worked again. The court of public opinion, once it turns on you."

"So, end of the day, it was the right thing to do to bring this case," Liv replied.

"Don't fish," he frowned. "You snatched a tie out of the jaws of defeat. You want to stay commanding officer. I want you to stay commanding officer. Don't bring me cases like this," he snapped, then walked out on both of them.

"What was that about?" Amaro asked.

"You saved his ass."

"Yeah, after I put it on the line," she confessed.

"Well, he's a big boy, he'll get over it. So will Cassidy."

"What?" She raised an eyebrow.

"You took down his favorite comic."

"Goodnight, Nick."

"'Night."

She watched him walk away, until her phone began ringing on the desk. Looking down, she was dismayed to see Brian's face on the screen. The Galloway case had hit below the waist in regards to her relationship, driving home the lack of communication between herself and Brian – and not just in a literal sense.

Where were they headed? After moving in together, they hadn't once broached a conversation about the long-term. Once, Brian had accused her of being married to her job, but the truth that twelve years had revealed was that she wanted a life that was far away from the unit. Liv wanted a conventional home life that covered the scar of her own childhood. The younger Brian Cassidy, maybe he had dreamed of marriage, of children . . . once.

But the Brian that was on the other end of the call that was ringing, she knew that he didn't go to sleep at night with thoughts of family. He was a man of service, of habit, of simple comforts. Cassidy liked a cold beer, a hot ball game, and a good night's sleep. In two years, conversations about family never really made an appearance.

Liv watched the phone ring, then swiped the Decline button.

They needed to talk. Just not now.

/ / /

Gambling, and fucking Nick were the only two places left where Amanda felt any control. Even down fifteen grand, and one rum and coke too deep, she had the upper hand. She was breasts, and blonde curls, dressed for the part. Blue eyes and long legs, holding court, forgetting the things that needed to be forgotten.

"Hit me."

"You do know you have a 16 against a dealer 3."

"Yeah, how about I count my cards, you count yours?" she told the dealer.

"Better luck next time," laughed the annoying older man in the suit, beside her. He had been watching Rollins' gambling failures for about a half hour.

"Hit me," Amanda repeated.

"My little _rapariga_. Rrr! Two caipirinhas, one for me and one for my new friend," the man grinned.

The young waitress locked eyes with Rollins. They recognized each other immediately.

"Uh, no, thanks. I should call it a night," Amanda declined. She watched nervously as Clare Wilson hurried away.

Clare let herself into the back office.

"What's the craic? The ambassador getting handsy again?"

"I can handle him. It's the woman who was sitting next to him."

"The blonde."

"Yeah. Her. You know she's a cop?" Clare asked.

Amanda folded what bills she had managed to hang onto, and was about to put on her jacket, when a strong Irish brogue spoke over her shoulder. "Leaving early?"

"Quit while you're behind, right?"

"Everyone does. Would you mind coming with us, miss?"

"Uh, I mean, is there a problem?" Amanda asked, her stomach clenching.

"No, only solutions. Just do as I ask," the Irish man told her.

"I'm not counting cards. If I was, do you think I'd be down 15 grand?" she huffed, starting to walk away.

"Let's take this off the floor, all right? He's asking you nice," the man's muscle advised, stepping in her path.

The Irishman slipped his arm around Rollins' neck and yanked her in, close to him. Or would you rather this night end up completely banjaxed, hmm?"

He held her to him with that same, painful grip, all the way into the back office."

"Okay, okay, whatever this is - " she stuttered, as he released her, shoving her to the middle of the floor.

"Shut up!" he barked, and then there were two guns pointed at her head. He held a finger to signal her silence, then stepped forward. With both hands, he yanked her blouse open, scattering the buttons to the floor. Amanda gasped in surprise, her hands going up defensively, palms out. "No wire. Not even an under-wire," he announced.

Her mind whirled, trying to think of the best way to squirm out of this mess, trying to remain outwardly as calm as possible. The man, who still hadn't said his own name, pulled her forward by a belt loop, then bent her over and patted her down.

"Ah, look at this. She's a detective," said the woman who was handed her wallet.

"Yeah, but I'm here off-duty. No gun, no wire, no worries," Amanda told them.

"No? You're the one down 15 grand, Detective Rollins, and you're the one standing here half naked with a gun to your head. My name's Declan O'Rourke. Pleased to meet you."

"Yeah, you don't want to threaten a cop," Amanda warned him.

"Why not? You're manky. You're dirty. You're a dirty, filthy little girl. And you can't do a bloody thing unless you've lied and you're investigating us. Hmm?" Declan stepped back up, into her face, and Amanda backed anxiously into the aquarium that lined the wall.

"I'm here - I'm here off-duty. This has nothing to do with my job," she told them again, but she heard the waver in her own voice.

"It does now," the woman said.

"If this is about what I owe, I-I'm making good on it. I've got O.T. coming."

"We'll get to that," Declan dismissed.

"First you need to prove that you're not an informer," the woman explained. "You have a test for her?"

"I do. And if you pass, then we can discuss how you work off the debt," Declan replied.


End file.
